


A Home I Never Thought I'd Know

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Awkwardness, Depression, Falling In Love, Family, Firefighter Dean, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Dean, Injury Recovery, Love, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Pain, Panic Attacks, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Protective Castiel, Protective Sam, Relationship(s), Smut, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 06:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 106,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9422849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Learning who are you are when you can no longer be what you thought you always were is never easy. When you feel that you have nothing, and yet that's still somehow more than you had in the first place, getting up in the morning can be the hardest thing in the world. Will a new start, in new surroundings from the well-meaning confines of his brother's home give Dean the chance in life he's never had?Outwardly, Cas is doing okay. He has work that he enjoys, some hobbies that allow him to express himself whilst hiding behind an armoury of words, and a best friend who will possibly quite literally tear strips out of anyone who does him wrong. But inwardly, Cas is lonely, so unsure of himself, and unable to shake the spectre of being the family disappointment. Is he ever going to be the person he wants to, whoever that might be?Welcome to Tea Tales, a small, homely cafe that's the meeting point for the beginning of so many adventures, including that of Dean and Cas. Can a former firefighter and a would-be-maybe writer find something together that neither believed was possible? Spoilers – yes; yes they can. Here's how it happens ;)





	1. Before we begin

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 
> 
> Hello :) here's a somewhat (far too) lengthy not-quite-coffee-shop AU that was never meant to turn out this long!
> 
> There are copious notes at the end of this chapter that I'd suggest reading through first if any of the tags could be trigger-worthy. **also see these notes for posting details**
> 
> In advance, thanks for reading and hugs all round :)
> 
> x

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

Dean clutched his fingers a little tighter around the steering wheel as he peered over at the cafe Sam was gesturing at, glancing back to Sam for confirmation in case he'd missed where he was really meaning then turning back again to look for himself, a disdainful glower creasing deep between his eyes. “Why're you doing this to me, man?” and though aware of how just petulant he was sounding Dean couldn't find it in himself to either care or stop.

Unyielding, Sam threw an irritating, patient smile in his direction then clambered out of the car, tall limbs flailing all over the place as he did—as they always did—then standing and waiting for Dean to do the same. He stood, appearing calm and neutral as Dean grimaced and griped, slowly dragging himself up and out of the driver's seat with a constant string of complaints then wincing for a moment before straightening himself up against the car's frame as best he could manage.

A quick glance to his side told him Sam was tactfully looking in the opposite direction down the street, giving Dean privacy as he gripped tight on to the edge of the Impala blasting out shallow breaths that fogged up the car's roof with the effort he was exerting. A final curse, and Dean was dropping his head between his knuckle-white hands and resting that there too with an exhausted groan, watching out of the corner of his eye as Sam fought with himself against reaching out to try and offer help.

In the seconds Dean allowed his eyes to fall closed Sam had shifted around to him, quietly closing the car door that he had forgotten to himself. Dean shrugged away from Sam's hand about to press against his back, watching as he then raised them both up in a gesture meant to be placating whilst keeping a discreet distance that told Dean he was respecting his space. Dean paused, making sure Sam was about to make no sudden moves then sucked in a harsh breath against the pain coursing through him and pushed away from the car, his hands coming to a stop in tight fists down by his sides.

"I'm a coffee man. You know this. The world knows this,” Dean repeated his complaint when his breathing had evened out enough to get the words out again, holding out an arm instinctively in front of Sam as they crossed the street and a car sped past. Sam smiled at the gesture making Dean roll his eyes; it was a kneejerk reaction he'd had since Sam had first started walking, and Dean had no patience for seeing it put such an affectionate smirk on Sam's face.

“Dean,” he began, that placating tone grating and chafing at every part of Dean until his non-existent fingernails were digging hard into his palms. Even something as simple as the speaking of his name was currently incendiary, and if his arms would have let him Dean would have folded them tight across his chest to add to the scowl he gave Sam, infuriating Dean further still by standing there calmly holding the cafe door wide open for him and standing back as far as he could to let Dean pass.

Dean hovered stubbornly outside thinking there might still time for him to make his escape. He gave a suspicious glance around the cafe through the open doorway taking in its sturdy-looking wooden furniture with deep padded cushions for the seats, and the four thick couches at the back, all covered with a material that was chequered in a pattern of green, yellow, brown and orange and appearing what Dean felt deceptively comfortable. “It's a cafe,” Sam said, his voice edged with amusement and, Dean thought pleased, a tiny touch of frustration, “it's tea. Not—it's just tea, okay? I've been coming here since it opened and I've not had a bad one yet,"

Dean took another glance at the occupied seats filled with patrons as they tapped away at their laptops and tablets in between taking sips of tea, and scowled again. “How many kindsa tea they need to have anyway?” Dean's grumble lingered in the air behind him as he finally crossed the threshold and headed straight for a corner table, from where he intended keeping an eye on the car but also remaining mostly out of sight. Picking up the menu with an exaggerated reluctant sigh, Dean saw the many, many options available, and threw it back down in immediate dismissal.

“All kinds,” was Sam's long-suffering retort; Dean looked up and caught Sam's gaze taking in the painful stiffness across his shoulders as he'd sat back down again, though was grateful at least to know he was doing it without making a single comment. Dean had an idle thought that he wished Sam would just go ahead and comment, give him something to lash out at that might take this constant bristling feeling away from him, but knew it was only his self-destruct button goading for an argument, and pushed the thought back firmly away again.

“All kindsa coffee out there, too,” Dean gestured at the window looking out of it forlorn, his fingers all but trailing longingly down the glass, “bet they don't even sell pie,”

"Actually they do." Sam flipped over the discarded menu and pointing to the dessert section with a practiced manner that suggested how often he'd ordered from it himself. Dean's eyes lifted instantly in the direction of the counter deciding he could actually smell the pie out from where he sat, and for the first time since they'd left Sam's house, Dean felt his face lift to something more neutral than the permanent scowl that he'd had on his face since waking that morning.

“That. I'll have that,” Dean nodded and tilted his chin in the counter's direction without so much as glancing down and checking the menu to see if there were multiple flavors to choose from.

“And to drink?”

"How'm I s'posed to know with all these stupid choices?" Dean's irritable complaint as he flipped the menu over once more and firmly pushed it back away from him stirred up an uncomfortable flare of guilt. Sam was doing so much for him, had done so much. So much, without complaint or even a single snide remark, yet Dean was sat here acting more years than he wished to count beneath his age, and still couldn't seem to stop himself from griping.

Sam's shoulders dropped a fraction enough to show Dean was getting to him but he let it go, and that tendril of guilt flared harder for Dean. “You'll get what I order then,” Sam told him, standing and walking over to the counter before Dean could object.

Watching him walk away with a sigh, the groan at himself that Dean had been holding in forced its way up and out, curving his shoulders forward in a slump that left him rigid and wincing. As he sat there muttering to himself under his breath Dean forced his thoughts to how happy Sam was, how Sam being married to Jess had seemed to complete him, and how seeing Sam so happy being the successful lawyer he had always wanted to be growing up was the only thing that kept Dean himself going in his darkest moments; so he should put up and shut up and stop being such an ungrateful grump.

A sense of despair pressed down hard on Dean right then making everything seem heavy and too difficult, and for a fleeting second he wondered what to do to make the whole world go away. Sam's return nudged him out of it; Dean cracked open his eyes to observe him sliding down into his seat with a thud and wiping a tired hand across his face before giving Dean a small smile.

“Won't be long,” Sam's promise was half-hearted, his attention clearly elsewhere as Dean watched him picking up a sugar stick between his fingers then absently shook it back and forth.

“Can't wait,” Dean muttered back, then pulled a face at himself and wrinkled up his eyes by way of apology. Sam, saint that he always was with Dean of late, just shrugged back.

“Thanks again for letting me stay, Sammy,” Dean said with a soft smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, no matter how sincere his gratitude was or how hard he tried. Because he was grateful, really, he was. But if he allowed himself to remember that he was hundreds of miles from the place he'd always known as home, and that he had no place to go back to, and then why he had no place to come back to, that he was living in his kid brother's spare room just down the hall from where said kid brother and his beautiful wife were more than likely—

Cutting his thoughts of abruptly Dean called himself a loser under his breath, and as if to physically push the thoughts away, rolled his shoulders. Cautiously.

“Like I'd want you being anywhere else right now,” came Sam's snorted reply, the speed with which the sugar stick flew between his fingers the only indication of the tension that was brewing beneath the surface.

“I know. I do. But—”

“You check in with Ellen and Bobby yet this week?” Sam cut in, stopping whatever Dean had been about to say. Dean was pretty sure Sam had already heard enough of his self-deprecation and apparently unwarranted apologies over the past few days, and the look on Sam's face told Dean he was adamant he wasn't going to hear anymore of them unless he really, absolutely had to.

“Called 'em yesterday when you and Jess were at work, just forgot to tell you 's all. They say hi,”

Sam nodded, smiling up at the waitress as she approached their table with a laden tray that she carefully began to unload in the space between them.

“You must be Dean,” The statement was quiet, warm and curious, with the setting down of a thick slice of pie in front of Dean that had his mouth watering just for seeing, followed by a slice for Sam, a huge butter yellow teapot, and two matching cups. Belatedly Dean realized Sam must have mentioned him to the waitress when he'd been up to order; the pie was distracting enough not to have him openly bristling at being discussed.

Sam introduced Claire, who gave Dean a cautious wave before crossing her arms and eyeing him with open curiosity, before starting up an idle discussion with Sam about the virtues of the tea they were about to be drinking that had Dean zoning out. Oblivious, Claire rewarded him with another smile then tipped her head towards the teapot. “Give the tea a chance. I'm a solid coffee drinker too; chain drink the stuff to get me through lectures. Least, I was, till I started working here. Stuff's good. Honest,” and with that she spun away from them, leaving Dean to watch as Sam tucked in to his pie with hungry enthusiasm. Dean needed no actual prompt to follow his example, swallowing the first bite of pie down with audible appreciation that had Sam smirking and asking him if he needed a moment alone with it.

“Pour the damn tea,” was Dean's only retort, warning himself to save a good half of the pie to get rid of the taste of the muck he was about to drink, mentally telling himself just how unnecessarily dramatic he was being then taking a sip, and realising it was nowhere near as awful as he'd been expecting. Sam watched him with a knowing smirk as Dean took another sip, and another, and the smirk just widened as Dean frowned down at the cup, feeling slightly offended by the tea not being thoroughly undrinkable.

“Told you,” Sam said, still with his mouth full and earning himself what felt to Dean like a well-earned glare.

"Still not coffee," Dean pointed out, though secretly relieved that he hadn't had to run and find somewhere to spit the tea back out.

“'Cos this is _Tea Tales_? Kinda the point?” A mocking repetition of Tea Tales under his breath earned Dean a scowl from Sam who then shifted in his seat like he was warming to his subject. “This is just the regular kind,” Sam enthused, tapping his fork against the side of the teapot and nodding in Dean's direction, “you tell the owner of this place what you need —or more often he'll just take one look at you and guess somehow—and they'll make whatever you want,”

“Will they make me coffee?” Dean replied with an ironic, sarcastic smile, causing Sam's eyes to roll and without further comment to scrape his plate clean. When done, Sam sit back with a contented sigh, drinking his own tea without a single complaint though watching Dean the entire time as sipped at his.

“So,” Dean heard once he'd scooped up the very final crumb from his plate, and that one word from Sam had Dean wanting to up and leave, run, drive, far away, anywhere away from Sam, so very not prepared to have A Conversation. Not that Dean really had the energy to run just then, which was probably Sam's plan in the first place, Dean grumbled to himself, to get him cornered whilst he was weak.

“So,” Dean parroted instead, bracing himself internally and trying to second guess whatever Sam might be about to tell him.

“So—So me and Jess. We—we've got a—family thing this weekend," Sam blurted out, wincing around the word _family_ looking so worried that it would upset Dean.

Of all the things Dean might have been expecting Sam to say, that hadn't even been close to any of them; Dean gave a tiny shrug of his shoulder to show that he didn't care, ignoring the strange twisting feeling in his gut on hearing it. It was useless to have any kind of feeling about it even if he did, because of course Sam had another family now that Dean himself was not a part of; that's what came with being married. But he nodded again as though unaffected, indicating for Sam to continue.

"So—you've got the place to yourself for the weekend. We're heading out straight from work on Friday,”

“This where you tell me no wild parties or kinky sex in your bathtub?” Dean asked, grinning and allowing himself to relax a touch at the apparent promise of no lectures.

Sam smiled, and Dean immediately hated the way he knew it was sad, and sad because of him. “Kinda wish that when we got back on Sunday night I'd find you right in the middle of all that. Not that I ever wanna see you doing, uh—any of that—” he amended quickly looking vaguely sick, but half-pleased to see the childish glee in Dean's eyes at his words.

"I'm sure that can be arranged," Dean told him with a leering wink that had Sam groan a little, letting his head fall forward but his smile flicker wider.

“Seriously. I just—I mean I'd invite you with us but—” Sam's expression became one riddled with apology, and Dean waved it away, shaking his head.

“I wouldn't wanna anyway,” Dean replied easily, being nothing but truthful. All those compassionate, caring eyes on him for an entire weekend? A barrage of questions? An overwhelming glut of well-meaning suggestions from people who were essentially strangers to him? No thank you, not in a million years.

“I know. That's—can you do something for me this weekend, Dean?”

Dean raised his eyes to look at Sam then, half-expecting what was coming. "You know normally, Sam? I'm good for DIY and decorating, but you know right now? Not sure I'd be much use,”

Sam's lips pursed into a thin line of thorough disapproval at Dean's joking that Dean barely resisted groaning at seeing. “Like I'd even ask right now,”

“Kidding, Sammy,”

Sam's scowl was brief, gone quicker than it had come as he carefully avoided Dean's eyes and said, “Can you—can you try and do something fun for yourself? Like—go out? Talk to people? I don't know-go to a-a bar or something?”

Dean snorted, also avoiding Sam's gaze, though seeing blurred images of his last time in a bar right there in front of him instead of Sam, and rapidly forcing them from his mind. "I look like I'm in any fit state to be trying to hook up with anyone right now?" he asked, gesturing vaguely at himself just in case Sam wasn't aware of what he was referring to.

“No one said anything about hooking up. Although sure, if that makes you happy, do that,”

“Yeah, right,” Dean mumbled out loud, and to himself, like anyone's ever gonna want me again looking like _this_.

As though he could read Dean's thoughts, Sam pinned him with a glare and slowly shook his head, denying Dean the self-pity. “Don't. And I meant—fun. You know. Stuff you used to do. Back home,”

Dean snorted, his anger flaring irrationally angry out of what felt like nowhere. “Back home? Back home? Back home I worked. I helped out at the Roadhouse when Ellen asked me to. I took care of Dad when—didn't exactly have a lot of time for _fun_ ,”

“You had friends,” Sam protested, but the clutching-at-straws, guilty look on his face told Dean that he couldn't in that moment recall the name of a single person he remembered as being a friend of Dean's.

“Name one,” Dean retorted, getting a small amount of spiteful satisfaction at showing he too was able to read Sam's mind. Because for as long as it had been since Dean had last had anything resembling fun, he was even harder pressed to think of anyone he'd ever known well enough to call a friend; there hadn't really been anyone for years.

Sam opened and closed his mouth, paused, and tried a different tactic. “So go make friends. Here. You—you said you don't wanna go back to Lawrence. You don't have anywhere else to be. And- I'd love for you to stay here. It'd be great having you more permanently around,” he told him with such an earnest look on his face, giving Dean a hopeful smile that told him how very truthful that sentiment was.

Sam was right; aside from Ellen and Bobby, there was little or nothing back in Lawrence for him. The house sale was going through and almost complete, his meager belongings now filling a corner of one of Sam and Jess' spare bedrooms, and there was not a single reason for him ever to go back. This small Californian suburb where Sam and Jess had settled after he'd graduated from Stamford was a good a place as any to start over, and maybe, maybe when he was feeling better about himself, less weak, less pathetic, Dean might even be able to convince himself to go back to work. Maybe, when the memories stopped taunting him, allowed him to get a moment's peace, memories of—

Dean shook his head, refusing to allow those thoughts to get a hold of him again and gave a false smile back. “What. You telling me you're happy for your loser older brother to be encroaching on your married home?”

“You're not a loser, Dean; couldn't be further from one. And you're not encroaching; you know Jess loves having you around as much as I do.”

“For now,” Dean argued, surprising himself by draining the last of his tea without complaint or even prompting.

“You can stay as long as you want. But I'm pretty sure eventually you'll want your own space and stuff, right? All I'm saying—is that I'd love for you to maybe think about living here. And... maybe if you try and get out over the weekend, take a look around... instead of staring at the same four walls like you've been doing since you arrived—maybe you'd realize living here could be pretty good,"

So the words were out. What Dean knew Sam had been thinking, and itching to say to him for days, was finally there between them. He couldn't argue; since he'd set foot in Sam's place two weeks ago, the furthest he'd gone was to the end of the drive to add a trash bag on garbage collection day. And even that had taken a lot of talking to himself to achieve.

The problem was that currently, there just didn't seem any point to going anywhere. There was nothing that he wanted to do, nowhere he wanted to go, no one he really wanted to talk to aside from Sam and Jess. Dean was happy to sit, either in silence, or with the background noise of the TV that he rarely watched, and let the world go on without him. It felt better that way. Right.

Of course, not all of Dean's days were like that; some mornings when he rose stiffly from his bed, gritting his teeth in frustration at how much pain he was in and how long it was taking him to recover, a spark in his chest raged with impatience for him to be better and over all of this. To be doing something, taking this opportunity for what it was and getting on with his life, maybe even figuring out what he wanted from it now that it was entirely his to do with what he pleased. The dark days far outweighed these brighter ones, however; some mornings it took strength Dean didn't know he had just to resist the urge to pull the duvet up over his head and not come out again.

But he couldn't say that to Sam. Sam was already dropping not-so-subtle hints about _getting something to help_ and _talking to someone_ , and those were things that were just not going to happen. It was bad enough dealing with all of the pain medication he now had to use on a daily basis plus even just the thought of regular check-ups to make sure he was recovering okay; one session with a shrink and Dean figured he'd be prescribed all the antidepressants under the sun or locked up somewhere. As for talking about it, Dean grimaced to himself feeling the walls closing in on him, that wasn't something he planned on having to do any time soon.

It didn't help that over the past week Sam had had to come into his bedroom in the middle of the night to shake Dean awake from the most horrendous nightmares Dean had ever experienced in his life—and Dean had experienced some nightmares. It didn't help that Dean was constantly tired, and went from having no appetite at all to being almost ravenous without any apparent external influence. It also didn't help that the pain Dean was in didn't seem to be fading much at all, and was going on long after he thought it should do – despite what his doctors back home had told him, despite what his new doctor here had confirmed at their first meeting last week. These things take time, Mr. Winchester was a phrase Dean had never heard in his life until six weeks ago. Now it seemed that everyone was saying it to him wherever he went.

But instead of telling Sam all of these things, along with all of the other things that were racing around his mind and preventing him from actually getting to sleep most nights, then working their way into his nightmares when he did, all Dean could do was give a half-shrug and mumble out an, “I'll try,” and hope that it was convincing enough.

* * *

**Cas**

Cas upended the wine bottle to shake out the very last drops into his glass and grimaced, only then realizing that over the course of the evening he'd drank the entire bottle. He watched the red tears slip their way down to the bottom of the glass then pulled it up to his lips, taking a mouthful and swirling it around with a sigh.

Wriggling back into the couch and pulling his laptop up on to the cushion already resting there in his lap, Cas allowed his head to fall back for a moment and stared up at the ceiling before tiredly closing his eyes. It was Saturday night, and if he checked his phone, not that he'd heard any notifications, he'd see that the only things waiting for him would be suggestions from Twitter on who to follow or some generic email trying to sell him things he neither wanted nor had any need for.

Cas thought of Meg, smiling at images of his longest, best, and if he was honest, only true friend, thinking that she must already have drunk quite a bit by this time as well, and was likely by this point up to something raucous. His smile morphed into a tiny huff of relief that he had turned her invitation for the evening down; one thought of the bar she was going to with that group of friends and that look in her eye and Cas was shuddering to himself, his momentary pang of loneliness well and truly gone.

This was, after all, the life that he had built for himself, so there was little point spending time pitying himself for it. A solitary child seeming even more mouse-like in the presence of his vivacious older brother Gabriel, Cas had grown up in a house lacking much in the way of varied human contact. Either that had shaped his outlook on life or his life had provided the backdrop for him being like this; Cas didn't mind. He had Meg, he had his brother, he had Tea Tales, the cafe that would forever in Cas' mind be a tribute to his beloved grandmother.

He had his writing, Cas added to himself, defensive and then mocking himself for it. Writing may not have turned into the career he'd occasionally envisaged for himself when he was in one of his more decisive moods; nor did he have enough writing work to solely make a living from. But it did provide him with interaction in the form of weekly conversations with an undemanding editor of an online literary magazine, and it was also both an outlet and escape for him: outlet in the form of poetry and escape in the many half-started stories he'd written over the years.

Balancing his glass on the arm of the couch and clicking between the half-complete article he was writing and a story he was adding a few words to Cas typed rapidly, huffing in satisfaction to himself then tabbing back, reread his last paragraph and reworded it yet again. The problem with having no real deadline was that Cas needed to motivate himself, and as it was at the moment he was going through a listless period when nothing seemed to sit-or write quite right.  
  
Another gulp of wine, another paragraph completed; a further fleeting feeling of longing shot through Cas then, wishing he was someone other than himself – or at least a confident, more outgoing version that wouldn't be sat alone in his apartment on a Saturday evening and would instead be out somewhere, with interesting people who were equally interested in him. In his head Cas visualized himself in a small bar with a small circle of friends, discussing whatever came into their heads with easy conversation, laughter and affection. The thought of it all was so tangible that when Cas opened his eyes again to find himself in his living room, his stomach jolted with the sense of being torn away from it all and left so very, very alone.

Angry with himself for allowing such self-pity Cas finished his glass with two large gulps and debated opening another bottle. He glanced at the time; Claire was opening Tea Tales for him tomorrow so he wouldn't even need to be in until late afternoon, and even then running Tea Tales wasn't exactly a chore. Baking, making tea for customers, and in doing that giving him people to talk to even if it was only ever fleeting or generally about the same few subjects. If it wasn't for Tea Tales, Cas thought, shoving his laptop to the side and deciding on that further glass, his world would be even more painfully small.

But that was okay too, Cas told himself, pouring himself an extra large glass this time with a flourish of the bottle bringing the pouring to a stop. In what had become a habit Cas then paced his apartment with his wine firmly in hand, sipping his way around bookshelves and the few photo frames before stepping out on to his tiny balcony and watching the world go by beneath him. He imagined conversations in the passing cars, destinations in the steps people were taking, meals about to be eaten and friends about to be made.

Idly, in the way that often happened if he didn't keep a hold on it, Cas' mind whispered to him about how good it might be to have someone stood beside him on that balcony to speculate over those people with. To sit beside him on the couch and share that open bottle of wine, perhaps feel the brush of fingers through his hair or a solid press against his arm. Cas turned then, glanced back through the balcony doorway and over at the couch, pictured for himself a faceless man to be spending his time with, not really to scratch that itch he was insistent on ignoring but to just be there sharing the same air, the same space, the same life.

Cas' shoulders slumped then under the weight of his loneliness and squared them in an attempt to fight against it, decided he would have this glass of wine and only one other then would drink copious amounts of water and get himself to bed. He may not need to get up early tomorrow but that didn't mean he should sit up for hours growing increasingly maudlin. Nor would it do him to be particularly hungover; if he could haul himself out of bed for his usual Sunday morning run, then Cas knew he would feel better.

Deciding this was a good plan Cas walked back through and into his kitchen, grabbed up the bottle of wine with a reminder to himself of only just one more then sat back down, picking up his laptop again and tapping out a few lines of a poem that had just come into his head. Cas looked down at his phone then as it vibrated with a new message and felt his heart sinking deep on reading Gabriel's words:

_Call Mom. Can't avoid her indefinitely little bro, she'll only scream louder when you see her – and at me for not reminding you to, so cut me some slack and do it, okay? Got court Monday. I'll visit after – put me a slab of that filthy fudge cake to one side, wouldya?_

The fudge cake was, in fairness, filthy; Cas made the pies, cheesecakes, and the occasional more traditional cakes himself, but the fudge cake had to be ordered in with regularity because it was just that good. Gabriel's sweet tooth meant Cas knew to order in even extra when Gabe warned he was visiting; clicking his online order form open Cas wearily added to it then while it was still fresh in his head, further dejected by the thought of a conversation with their mom.

A few more words were added to the various documents Cas had open, his glass of wine finished and the urge for another now gone. When sure everything was saved Cas gently lowered his laptop lid and returned both his glass and the wine bottle to the kitchen, rinsed the glass out, drank a tall glass of water, then took himself to bed.

* * *

Morning came, and Cas took a moment to thank at least taking after his father in the sense that he woke with no hangover. Though he did wake with a certain ache and swollen stiffness between his legs that despite his best efforts to ignore Cas knew sooner or later he'd have to give into and do something about. Snatches of dreams with nameless, faceless encounters added even more to wrap his fingers around, along with ghosts of memories of touching and being touched. And with a sigh of defeat Cas slipped his hand down into his boxers taking himself in a firm grip, closing his eyes to the small sparks of instant pleasure that gave him and letting out a soft moan.

Not that Cas didn't enjoy sex, he mused to himself, watching the slide of his hand repeatedly raising the duvet for a few strokes before throwing it back and shoving his boxers down, splaying his legs wide and closing his fingers around his length again. Because he did, he really, really did; but when the most important thing for Cas about sex was the intimacy, and his only real experience with that turning out to be something of a lie, sex had become something to get over and done with. Either through rare one night stands that no matter good they were at the time left him loathing himself, or with his own hand, an experience that brought the necessary relief yet even more the reminder that something was missing for him. Or wrong with him even, for always spending so much of his life alone.

Angry at himself for allowing those thoughts Cas gripped himself a little tighter, then grimaced for the sting of it and fumbled out to his side for the seldom-used bottle of lube in his drawer. The smoother, slicker grip had him humming to himself and planting his feet flat on the bed so he could rock up into his hand, watching his cock head repeatedly slip through his fingers and begin to bead then leak precum from his slit.

With a splayed hand against the growing heat in his gut Cas pressed himself down, splayed his legs a touch wider and skimmed his thumb over his head. The resultant shot of heat pushed another soft moan out from his mouth and then another still when he added a light twist as he stroked up. Cas watched himself; the press of his fingers into his skin, his other hand in tight, warm slides up and down his cock, his thigh muscles twitching with every build of pleasure, and the way his chest rose and fell more rapidly the closer that he got.

Cas imagined himself splayed wide open for someone to look at, the feel of their hands warm and sliding up his thighs. Their urgent words of encouragement, the gasp he'd let out on feeling their grip around him, the way he'd arch up from the bed and into their waiting mouth. The thought of those wide, warm hands spreading him open sent a deep, aching clench right through Cas then, and the memory of being filled quickening his pace, pulling his breath out of him in ever more desperate gasps.

But the thing that finally took Cas over the edge wasn't even particularly sexual. Warm lips grazing a path up his neck before claiming his mouth, strong arms pulling him ever closer, and sweet words whispered softly into his ear; that's what had him finally dragging his t-shirt up to expose his chest and seconds later coming hard, splattering a mess over himself that he took one glance at then dropped his head back hard into the pillow, waiting for his breath to calm.

In an ideal life, Cas thought to himself, the lonely feeling creeping over and pinning him to the bed as he had known it would do, he would wake every day next to a man who loved him, would sleepily blink himself awake and lean in to kiss him good morning with an easy smile. Cas would still have Tea Tales, though he would more often than not be found in one of its corners typing away at his laptop and writing stories and things that people paid to read.

There would be family that cared about him, a small circle of friends who he'd meet regularly and message throughout the day trading stories of the things they were doing then rehash it again in the evening over a glass of something in a small bar corner, or even an outdoor terrace. There would be no grand plans for the future, but there would be things to look forward to; birthdays, Christmases that weren't an exercise in survival and damage limitation to his already skewed approval of himself. Vacations to take, places to visit; all with someone by his side, someone that accepted him just as he was, awkwardness and all.

Sighing at the seemingly out of reach future he'd conjured for himself, Cas gave one final glance down at the mess he'd made and pulled a handful of tissues from their box on the side to clean himself up with. A few more seconds of bittersweet longing and Cas was shaking his head, dragging himself up out of bed and stretching, then stepping into the shower to rinse off, and finally pulling on his running clothes, relying on the promise of exercise lifting his mood before he had to call his mother.

* * *

 


	2. A weekend of many meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

Saturday morning and Dean had woken to an overly-quiet house with a start. Not a nightmare, he reminded himself, since that had woken him much, much earlier, leaving his sheets sweaty and his skin clammy and his heart threatening to leap from his chest. It was just as though something had prodded him awake, prompting him to do something that he couldn't really remember, nor why it needed to be done. Dean reached for his phone, half-expecting there to be a message from Sam waiting for him, and that to be the reason for his sudden need to be alert, groaning at the stiffness in his arms as he tried to move.

When Dean saw that there was no such message he let out a tired, heavy sigh, dragged back the duvet with a grumble then took an age to swivel around until his feet were over the side of the bed. Dean stood, pleased to see that it was a little easier than yesterday had been and putting that down to having at least two hours of his sleep being unbroken. With a careful, slow stretch, and only giving a slight wince at the protest his body made as he moved, Dean turned into the bathroom to begin what had become his new morning routine.

Deliberately avoiding his own gaze in the mirror as he waited for the Neosporin to dry a little, Dean screwed up his mouth in distaste, remembering his skins reaction to the Silvadene he'd first been prescribed. When he was satisfied that the cream was dry he rinsed his fingers off and twisted them up in a towel, waiting another moment just to make doubly sure. He let his eyes linger over his skin, once peppered only with freckles and now an alien landscape that never ceased to make his gut twist in sickness for seeing, then pushed back the wave of nausea that rushed through him. Gritting his teeth and bracing for it, Dean pulled a long sleeved t-shirt up over his head and noted the slow-improving mobility, cleaned his mess up off the counter and left.

Coffee was next, a huge, fat mug of coffee that made an excellent breakfast substitute even if Dean did say so himself, blatant in his ignoring of the whisper in the back of his mind telling him he really should be eating something despite not being hungry. With an idle scroll through the news on his phone, Dean felt the silence of the house closing in on him. Friday night had been fine; cooking himself a meal that didn't involve just Sam's rabbit food, drinking a couple of beers that had helped him relax, and watching a half-decent movie that kept his interest long enough to make him exhausted enough to try to sleep.

But now, with the whole day stretched out in front of him, Dean found himself mentally climbing the walls, itching to get out, to do something. He scowled, dropping his head back against the couch to glare up at the ceiling and blamed Sam entirely for putting such thoughts into his head. In defiance, Dean stayed there for a while, mentally painting Sam's ceiling with swirls of color then fiery backdrops that would make the imaginings of Dante look like portraits from kindergartens, then dragged himself up to his feet. With an audible groan of complaint with only his own ears to have to listen to, Dean cleared up his dishes, forced back the feeling of bile that rose up at the thought of leaving the house, and sat down with relief again more than an hour later in the comfort of his beloved Impala after he'd finally convinced himself to get outside.

He drove the now vaguely-familiar route into the more populated areas of the town, rolling his eyes at Sam's insistence on living in the suburbs like he'd always belonged there, and parked up. After a few minutes of bracing himself, of the reminder that there was absolutely nothing to worry about when walking down the street, Dean forced his way out of the car and fed change into the meter with trembling fingers before he could change his mind. The sidewalk did that odd thing it did for him these days, lurching up beneath his feet and making him feel as though he was paddle boarding, but it righted itself after only a few minutes allowing Dean to breath easier and stand a little taller in relief.

He passed a supermarket, a library, that health food shop Sam had dragged him to the other day for _supplements_ that Dean found himself snorting at in childishness, firmly turning his face away in search of more pleasant things to cast his eyes over. A bookstore caught his attention and Dean lost himself there happily for an hour, picking up and reading the sleeves of several books, stroking his fingers along the bookshelves and finding himself looking at the noticeboard advertising talks, poetry recitals, and creative writing classes.

He stopped for a coffee, looking the Tea Tales cafe up and down as though it had personally offended him as he passed it clutching his cup, and headed into a comic book store that he'd seen and longingly looked at when Sam had inflicted tea on him during the week. The store was everything Dean could want, crammed floor to ceiling with comics, anime, manga, graphic novels, limited edition figurines, and t-shirts. He could almost feel his wallet thinning out at the potential purchases on display, but instead of a mad dash of buying everything in sight Dean made himself calmly choose a couple of graphic novels, flick through just about everything else that was on offer, then forced himself to the counter with a t-shirt tucked under his arm before he could buy anything else.

The woman behind the counter took a look over Dean's purchases as she rang them up, then fixed him with a shrewd, analyzing stare. “DC or Marvel?” she demanded, pinning Dean with a look that dared him not to answer.

Dean's eyes widened briefly and gave her the once over, certain he'd found himself in the presence of a fellow geek. “Uh. I like both?”

“Star Wars or Star Trek?”

“Again—both?”

"Neil Gaiman fan?"

"Who isn't a Neil Gaiman fan?" at which her eyes narrowed a touch more, and her mouth began to turn up at the corners into a small grin.

“Do you game?” she asked, the strand of red hair twirled continually around her fingers stark in contrast against the paleness of her skin and giving her an air of something somewhere between innocent and mischievous. The tone in her voice suggesting that this was it, this was the crucial question she needed an answer to in order to decide if Dean was okay or not.

“Game? What kinda games?” Dean replied, shuffling and feeling slightly uncomfortable under her gaze that somehow had turned a notch more intense, leaving Dean with the distinct impression she was looking right through him.

“Game. You know. PS3. X-Box. Risk. Small World. Cards Against Humanity. Game.”

Dean laughed, relaxing instantly and letting his face slip into an easy smile. “You're aware they're two entirely separate entities, right? Video games and board games? But yeah—to both. Not that I have a console at the minute or have played anything in a while,” he added, frowning at the realization that these were things he wouldn't mind actually doing again.

“Charlie,” she told him with a suddenly stuck out hand offered across the counter for him to shake. Dean did just that, smiling at her enthusiasm and what now they'd got to know each other a little seemed to be a permagrin, watching as she packed up his things. “We have a board game night upstairs here a couple of times a month. Playing Descent next time. You should come,”

“Dean,” he laughed, watching as she slid a flyer from a small stack on the counter into his bag then held it out to him and asking about a million questions all at once. Dean spent what had to be more than an hour then leaning up against the counter back and forthing it with Charlie about the fandoms they were into, why Spork was the greatest, most enduring ship to ever ship, and getting into a semi-heated argument about which Doctor Who theme tune was the best – though agreed without question that David Tennant was possibly the best doctor to ever grace the inside of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

With his energy waning though feeling more like himself than he thought he had done in months, Dean thanked Charlie and stopped in the doorway to return her Vulcan salute, a smile still curving up his lips several minutes later as he walked down the street. Dean stopped to pick up a few groceries then headed back to Sam's, a feeling of burgeoning optimism sitting in the pit of his stomach an leaving his mood light.

Maybe he'd only properly spoken to one person today. Maybe he'd spent the majority of the day pushing back thoughts he didn't want to have yet, hearing them repeat over and over in the back of his mind whether he made the conscious effort to ignore them or not. Maybe he'd grunted at the waitress in the diner instead of making conversation, and used the self-service checkout at the grocery store to avoid further human contact. But he'd been out, and he'd done something for himself, which was in his eyes, progress, something that Sam would very much approve of, Dean thought. The perpetual black cloud that seemed to sit heavily on his neck like a cloak had somewhat lifted, at least temporarily.

_Did stuff today :)_

He messaged to Sam, easing himself down onto the couch with a bowl full of his favorite pasta and thumbing through his new graphic novels, ready to absorb himself in worlds he didn't have to be a part of.

* * *

Sunday morning, and Dean found himself with that same itchy need to do something hitting all over again. The graphic novels he'd read had inspired him, stirring up memories of things he used to do back before life had become so difficult. Carefully digging through the two boxes and few bags that he'd brought with him until he found an old sketchbook and a small pencil case full of drawing equipment, Dean's fingers stroked over the front cover of the sketchbook, somewhat kinder memories than his usual coming back to him then at the texture against his skin.

Turning page upon page of comic book characters, snatches of portraits, a couple of lovingly drawn sketches of the Impala and some random, everyday objects made fantastical in his imagination, Dean smiled at the reminder of pencil carbon staining his fingers, thick, pristine pages for him to bring things to life on, and an escape from the world around him into one he could carve with his own hands and command. As he continued to flick through the pages Dean could even tentatively admit that he was reasonably good at drawing, not quite doing enough to silence the scathing voice telling him that after all this time, he'd probably forgotten how.

With a look out the window at the bright, sunny day outside Dean made a decision, soon finding himself driving once more to a park he had passed yesterday and wanted to take a look at but hadn't had the energy to stop. Sitting down on a park bench beneath the shade of a tree and looking at the early morning activity around him, Dean spent a few minutes going through some of the used pages of his book with another smile, then sharpened a couple of pencils and began to draw.

Dean always lost himself when he drew, he remembered that much now with the pencil in his hand and the noises of the park around him all but disappearing. Demons and dragons, angels and amaroks, everything that came into his imagination and anything that he could recreate on paper. Some were simple images, others had speech bubbles with single lines of dialogue, and others still he surprised himself with, because he had no clear idea of how they had even come to be.

By the time Dean had moved to three separate benches to avoid the sun and his hand was flexing from the constant movement of drawing, Dean realized that he'd been so busy that he'd managed to work himself up an actual appetite. With a last flick through everything he'd worked on that morning Dean stiffly rose to his feet, tentatively stretched himself out, and headed back to the car.

As if on autopilot, Dean ended up parked outside the comic store from the day before, his shoulders dropping with disappointment to find that it was closed. Scowling at the locked door denying him entry, his stomach grumbled loud enough to remind Dean that he was supposed to be finding something to eat. He gave the shop front one last longing look over then shoved his hands in his pockets, and made his reluctant way down the small street. Dean was sure he'd seen a diner a little further along when he'd been out with Sam, but as he searched for it his attention was drawn to a sign in the window of Tea Tales announcing _Homemade tomato and rice soup, fresh today_! that had him stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and staring stupidly across the street.

Dean had to have had tomato and rice soup all of five times in his life. Perhaps it was the length of the years or holding on to a fading, cherished memory, but just seeing the words saying _tomato and rice soup_ had Dean wistfully thinking of his mother. He remembered sitting at a worn wooden kitchen table and his mother blowing on the spoon of soup in her hand so it wouldn't be too hot for his sensitive young mouth. He must have been three at the time; after his mother had died any home-cooked food Dean and Sam had eaten had been courtesy of Ellen and Bobby. In fact, if John Winchester had ever remembered to feed his boys when they were growing up, it was boxed macaroni either over or undercooked, or diner food.

Dean wasn't a bad cook himself, and he'd tried to recreate his mother's recipe for himself a few times. But each and every attempt had turned out so badly that it had ended straight in the trash. Licking his lips, Dean knew it was unreasonable to expect such miracles as his mother's tomato and rice soup from a place that wouldn't even serve him coffee, yet found his feet carrying him forward, heading into the cafe as though there was no conscious thought from his brain.

Three of the eight tables were occupied, and Dean took it as a good sign that each person sat at them was eating the soup. He eyed the extensive tea menu behind the counter suspiciously, mouthing to himself the names of things he'd never even heard of before and not knowing where to start. Or if he even wanted to try. Maybe he'd just have the soup and leave, Dean mused, remembering the delicious-looking dessert counter from his visit with Sam and letting his eyes drift down to linger over that as well.

“Hello there,”

Or not.

Dean's eyes lifted from lusting after a mouth-watering-looking berry cheesecake to the face of the man behind the counter, and everything around him just seemed to stop. It wasn't just that the man was attractive, and that in itself was a cruel understatement; Dean's first thought was that he could happily lose himself in that mess of dark sex hair, ridiculously blue eyes, and stubble that dusted his jaw. His second was alarm at just how quickly his mind had gone there, and for a second Dean had to shake his head to clear it. No, it was more the way the man looked back at him in a way that suggested already knowing and seeing right through him that Dean found trapped by, but not wanting to look away from.

“Can I help you?”

Dean heard, and swallowed sharply, registering the fact that as well as the sex hair and the mouth he was desperately trying not to imagine tasting, the man serving had a voice that resonated a pitch in him that just made everything a little uncomfortable. But in a really, really good way.

“Uh,” Dean began, eyes wide as he tried to get his mouth to work, “I—I'd like the soup. Please,”

The man nodded at him, appearing to write something down on a pad on the other side of the counter just out of Dean's eyeline. “Anything to drink? Aside from the soup, of course,”

Dean looked back at him feeling dumb, his eyes flitting between the man's face and the overwhelming menu behind him. When he saw Dean shrugging helplessly the man smiled, and began looking Dean over intently with his fingers pressed against his lips in thought as he did.

After a few moments, he nodded as though he had decided on something, turning from Dean and taking a teapot, filling it up with a range of things from an assortment of jars as Dean watched in interest and even leaned forward a little to try to read the names on the labels. Dean was captivated, watching the practiced way he took an amount from each of the jars and sprinkled it in, tapping the side of the teapot lightly in a way that Dean presumed was to mix the ingredients together.

"You should sit," the man called over his shoulder, bringing to Dean's attention that he was still standing there gawping at him half stupid. With a nod that the man couldn't see Dean stumbled backward, knocking into a thankfully empty table and apologizing to it, before sinking into a seat close by the window just like he had the last time. With what felt like a lot of effort, Dean forced himself to look out of the window rather than stare back at the counter and sat there cursing at himself continuously under his breath. Now was not the time, and this was certainly not the place being one of Sam's regular places to be lusting after the counter staff, he told himself firmly, sucking in an alarmed, audible breath as the man in question silently appeared beside him in what felt like a matter of only a couple of seconds.

“Jeez,” he barked out, a hand to his chest and feeling his heart thrumming away there against his thumb, “warn a guy, would you,”

The man gave him a serene smile, placing the bowl of soup directly in front of Dean along with two generous slices of thick white bread, and a small teapot with a matching cup in the middle of the table. “This is a fresh batch; your timing is impeccable. Is there anything else that you need?”

Dean tilted his chin over to the teapot, daring himself to raise his eyes to look at the guy's face up close. “What'd you put in it?”

Dean's question seemed to make the man smile; he felt the sudden, stupid urge to want to say something—anything at all to make him smile like that again.

“I would ask that you drink it, see if you like it, and if you do, I will tell you all you wish to know,” he told him quietly, a hint of amusement lingering around the edges of his words.

Dean's eyes narrowed at the offending teapot for a moment then back up at him with was he knew was clear doubt written all over them. “Anything poisonous? Suspect?” which made the guy actually laugh a little, a soft little chuckle that had Dean grinning back at helplessly then immediately chastising himself for.

“It would not be in the interest of my business to serve you tea that was poisonous,” the man told him in the most reasonable of tones, turning away again before Dean could add anything. Which in that moment, sat there feeling foolish for crushing on the first person to get his attention in god only knew how long, Dean felt was for the best for everyone involved.

In an effort to stop himself doing anything stupid Dean picked up the spoon, drew the spoon up to his mouth, and took a hesitant sip, leaving him with the instant, distinct impression that the universe was, in fact, pranking him. He stared back over at the counter watching the man refilling things, wiping surfaces down, generally going about his own work with no second thought for Dean at all, then looked back at his soup and took another even more hesitant sip.

While it might not have been identical to his mother's, and Dean allowed reasonably that the passage of time might have altered that memory a little to make it this elaborate, magical concoction that never stood a chance at actually existing, the soup was, in a word, incredible. So incredible, in fact, that Dean ate the entire bowl of it within minutes, wiping the bowl clean with the bread to get to the very last of it before sitting back, thoroughly satisfied.

Dean looked suspiciously back over at the counter once more, then stared at the pea green teapot in front of him as though it was challenging him with its contents. With a sigh, knowing that the tea was never going to be anywhere near as impressive as the soup, Dean watched as the green-brown colored water poured from the spout into his cup, pulling a wary face at the steam rising from it. He raised the cup, gave a quick sniff to make sure it wasn't going to be absolutely terrible then tasted, and his eyes flew even wider in disbelief.

Dean had been ready to dismiss the tea altogether. He'd been both pleasantly and reluctantly surprised enough last time, but this tea, it almost tasted good. Dean snorted at that thought, shaking his head thinking something must be very wrong with him to be even considering such things, and carried on drinking. Idly, as he continued to take small sips of the tea that was invading and growing on him, Dean found his eyes drawn to the counter yet again, smirking as the guy reached up to add something on to one of the boards behind there, his eyes immediately darting to his t-shirt hem as it rode up at the stretch of his writing and exposed his side. And unchecked, Dean allowed his mind to wander.

Dean had known he was bisexual the minute he had laid his eyes on a kid called Max in his sophomore year. And before that he had long suspected he was bisexual, because whatever high school his dad had dumped him and Sam in, in his latest attempt at starting over, Dean's eyes had wandered across the field to the football team just as much as they had to the team's cheerleaders. Dean had never particularly experienced that much difficulty with his sexuality whilst John had dragged he and Sam up and down the country. And even when they'd initially returned to and continued to stay in Lawrence, the cloud of departure slowly and steadily dissipating from over their heads as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, the fact that Dean was interested in both boys and girls wasn't a problem; not to him, or Sam, or even Ellen and Bobby. But one night John had come home drunk earlier than usual to find Dean making out on the couch with a guy from class, and Dean could still feel the ghost of bruises to his jaw and the kick to his stomach even now.

His father had never quite looked at him the same afterwards, and although their relationship had smoothed out a little in some ways over the years in a fluctuating pattern depending on just how much liquor was available for John to consume and how quickly Dean could move so he didn't have to defend himself, Dean had spent most of his life since he was a teenager trying to get his Dad to like him, or at least respect him again. If he ever had in the first place. It was a battle Dean never felt like he could win, despite all that he tried.

With a frown only for himself, Dean squared his shoulders at the memory and took another sip of his tea, closing his eyes briefly as he let the taste infuse along his tongue. Now there was no one to constantly criticise his every move, he wouldn't hide who he was from anyone, and would never again attempt to apologize for how he felt. But every time a guy got his attention like this guy in the cafe had somehow managed to do so instantly, Dean also couldn't help but remember that first reaction from his dad. Not that it mattered now.

As though he could feel Dean's eyes on him, the man suddenly stopped, turning slowly to look at him with the slightest hint of an amused smile. “Good?” he called across the now almost-empty cafe, and Dean looked down at the table before nodding, pretending to have just happened to have been looking in his direction as he cast his eyes around the cafe, noticing probably belatedly the bookshelves overflowing with books, those that dotted around windowsills and even stood on the corner of the counter itself.

"Best I've tasted in a long, long time," Dean replied, his voice carrying naturally enough for him not to feel the need to shout, wondering if he could get a question in about the books he was seeing just for an excuse to keep hearing the man talk.

“The soup or the tea?” came the response, and Dean's own mouth involuntarily curled up into an answering smile.

“The soup. But the tea—the tea is—surprising,” Dean settled for, frowning briefly into his cup before looking back up.

The man seemed to find this hilarious, nodding to himself and wiping absently at something on the other side of the counter. “The soup is from a family recipe. My grandmother on my mother's side used to make it when my mother was very young, and also for me when I was a child,”

Dean nodded, finding himself both ridiculous and captivated. He stood awkwardly after draining the last of his tea and walked back over to the counter, his eyes flicking briefly to the dessert counter as he set his bowl down.

“Something else?” the man asked, smiling at the returned bowl before looking back at Dean and leaving him unable to make any other difficult decisions.

“Uh—pie was good here last time. I'll take a slice of whatever you've got,"

And now the man looked even more pleased, enquiring softly if he'd been into Tea Tales before. At Dean's nod of confirmation his eyes seemed to sparkle, which Dean cursed at himself for noticing or even acknowledging, but then the man was smiling wider and saying _well that almost makes us friends already,_ and Dean felt a twist of affection flare in his chest.

There was a momentary look of panic on the man's face immediately following his words, as though he feared he'd said something stupid, and a light blush hit his cheeks catching Dean's eye. “Dean,” he blurted out in a hurry to cover up what might have been the man's embarrassment, and as though he had no control over it shoved his hand across the counter for him to shake.

“Cas,” came the reply, along with a smooth palm pressed against Dean's own in a strong grip that made Dean feel ridiculously giddy. “So Dean,” Cas continued, smiling to himself as he bent down to pull out the plate of pie and cut him a thick slice, “you liked my tea enough to come back for a second try?”

Dean shrugged, smiling with a touch of apology. “Not gonna lie. I was—lured in by the soup. I'm a coffee man myself,"

Cas nodded as though this was the most reasonable of answers, then looked over towards Dean's table indicating for him to sit, gesturing again when Dean tried to offer to take the pie for himself.

Cas followed him with both the pie and a kettle, topping up the teapot with more hot water as he murmured, “Strawberry leaves for aches and pains. Lemon-balm for relaxation. A touch of chamomile to reduce inflammation. Fireweed, for everything. St John's Wort for... sadness,”

Dean's eyes grew that little bit wider and in his head heard a voice cautioning him not to trust this intrusion, to bark and barge and bluster his way out of it. Dean told the voice very firmly to go to hell. “You—uh—why'd you pick all that?”

Cas shrugged, drumming his fingers on the edge of Dean's table as though he had no other place he needed to be. “You look like you needed them.”

Dean looked down at himself then back up at Cas incredulously, not believing for a second that anything in his tea would do him any good at all, but at the same time not wanting to cause any offense. “I—I do?” he said, which Cas shrugged easily at again, continuing to stare back at him leaving Dean feeling a bit like he'd momentarily lost the ability to speak.

“You said,” Dean started then, staring back up at Cas as Sam's voice came back to him about Tea Tales, “you said. _Your_ tea? This your place, Cas?”

“It is,”

“My brother told me about you. That—you make the tea yourself? Like—you look at someone and just—guess what they want?”

Cas looked pleased at Dean's words, continuing to tap his fingers absently along the edge of the table causing Dean's eyes to dart to them frequently in distraction. “I suppose that is fair. Although I like to believe it is more about knowing what the person needs, rather than what they want,”

Something in the tone of Cas' voice had Dean swallowing hard and holding his breath, and a warmth stirring low in his gut that he quickly dismissed for fear of getting carried away with himself, so out of practice with feeling attraction to anyone that Dean was a little lost. Cas continued staring back at him though and that warmth refused to go anywhere; Dean wondered then which of them would be the first to blink.

“My brother swears by this place,” Dean continued when the spell had broken a touch, knowing he was finding reasons to keep the conversation going when it was completely unnecessarily.

“He does,” Cas repeated as a question, that pleased look on his face just seeming to swell and Dean helpless but to echo it.

“Yep. This is kind of the first place he's showed me since I got here,” No need to mention that it had taken Sam several days of persuasion to actually get him out of the house, Dean added, though not out loud.

Cas tapping stopped, fingers paused as though ready to go again at a moment's notice and his face morphing into an expression that Dean was desperate to be able to read. “You are merely visiting?”

“Uh,” Dean said, stuck for something to say, “I guess I'm kinda visiting. Kinda living here. Don't know yet: been here almost three weeks now. Not exactly got anywhere else to go, so—”

“Are you considering staying?”

“Maybe. I think so, yeah,”

“Then—I am sure I will see you again soon, Dean,” Cas told him simply before sauntering away, giving Dean a very nice view to linger his eyes over before he ducked back behind the counter, and leaving Dean to stare after him until he had to fight to force his gaze elsewhere.

* * *

 


	3. The start of something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

_Waste. Failure. Disappointment._

If there were three other words so finely ingrained into Cas’ mind every time he had to endure another phone call with his mother, Cas had no room for them.

Waste, because he was yet to do anything his mother deemed worthwhile with his life. Failure, because nothing he'd ever achieved could be considered by her standards a success. Disappointment, because _let me count the ways_ , Cas mumbled to himself under his breath as the pitch in his mother’s voice droned on at a volume that Cas idly wondered about recording and selling as an aid for insomnia.

Cas’ _means of disappointing my parents_ during this phone call were not limited to but included: his insistence on keeping up with the charade of running a cafe when he could be set up in his father’s law practice firm in some capacity of other despite never having studied law —yet another of his crimes; his refusal to come over for a family meal because he knew full well it would instantly degenerate into an up close and personal picking over his every fault as they always did; and that he still hadn’t put serious thought into the serious business of ‘settling down’.

Which was one of his mother’s favorite complaints, brought up at every single opportunity without the slightest of segways or effort of prompting. Because to Emily, matriarch over the Shurley family, _settling down_ would mean Cas getting over his _dalliance_ with being gay and finding a suitable wife to fit in with the family, providing the necessary grandchildren to keep up the all-important family image she had conjured for herself through a rose-tinted lens. Emily was still somehow convinced that Cas purposely _chose his lifestyle_ as another means of rebelling against her even after all these years, and though he'd grown up knowing never to expect praise for any of his achievements there was still a part of him that would forever be a small, shy boy desperate for his parents to love and accept him however he was.

Following their phone call his mother’s words looped on repeat for Cas, throughout the remainder of his morning and much of his afternoon, which included a stop at the grocery store, an unplanned half hour perusing the books in the store just down the street from Tea Tales, and arriving at the cafe somehow still an hour earlier than intended, allowing a very grateful Claire to go home before she was due.

“You’re the best, Cas, thanks,” she told him practically breathless in her haste to be gone, fixing him with a smile that warmed something in his chest long after she had stepped through the door of the cafe with a brief wave back at him. Claire wasn’t quite family, Cas had reflected as he watched the door in silence for a few moments after she had left, and she was probably too young for him to be completely comfortable referring to her as a friend. But he did feel an odd sense of protectiveness over Claire that put her on the very short list of Cas’ favorite people, and in Cas' small world, any such addition was received gratefully and treasured.

Making his grandmother’s soup wasn’t high on Cas’ list of normal ways to distract himself from his mother’s ire, but today found him thinking wistfully of an always-warm kitchen, smells delicious enough to make any mouth water, and grabbing handfuls of long, thick, floor-length skirts, trying to hide from whatever mischief his brother Gabriel was trying to get him into. It seemed a popular choice if how quickly he’d had to make a second and then third batch was anything to go by, and had gone a long way to fade his sour mood into one that was more manageable, less self-deprecating.

Cas was just finished taste testing and nodding to himself in approval of what was going to have to be the very final batch of soup now that he was out of the majority of its ingredients, when he heard the door of the cafe open and temporarily waft in the sounds of the street outside. He quickly shook the excess water from the last plate he had been rinsing, wiped his hands on a towel and hastily plucked at a splash of soup that had landed on his apron before shrugging out of it, discarding it on one of the kitchen surfaces. Cas walked back out of the small kitchen located behind the counter pasting on what Claire called his serving face for his prospective customer only to have his mouth go dry, his eyes grow wide, and a distinct feeling of want begin a traitorous creep through his core.

Standing before him, looking up at the tea menu with such thorough though adorable confusion on his face, was a man that Cas found instantly so utterly beautiful that he’d rendered himself momentarily stupid just by staring at him. Not that the man had even noticed him, of course, still completely focused on silently mouthing out the names of some of the teas listed on the wall behind him looking utterly perplexed.

“Can I help you?” Cas managed to force himself to say, taking in the immediate look of lost that seemed to be seeping over the man’s face. That he stumbled out his words before asking for the soup in a voice that should not have had Cas gripping the counter in an effort to remain calm, showed just how deep an impact he’d made in those first few seconds.

That same adorable confused look overwhelmed the man’s face yet again when Cas asked him about tea; it gave him the perfect excuse to look the man over as though he was really studying him instead of very definitely checking him out. However with only a quick glance, Cas’ experience told him that the beautiful man before him was in a constant, low to medium level kind of pain, was not sleeping well, and had probably seen more than his fair share of bad things in his life. Cas forced back his overactive imagination from the many ways he could envisage himself caring for the man, ushering him away to a table before he could say anything he probably shouldn’t.

Over the next few minutes Cas tried and failed not to stare, eventually giving up the pretense of being discreet hoping the soup was good enough to keep the man distracted enough not to notice. He watched every raise of the man’s spoon, and every sip from his cup with interest, and although knowing it was most likely entirely due to the loneliness that had so deeply rooted itself in him the previous evening Cas found himself fascinated, it having been so very, very long since someone had stirred this kind of reaction in him that Cas had almost forgotten the euphoric feeling he got from just feeling attraction for someone.

Cas kept watching in silence, feeling a surge of pride when he saw that both the soup and the tea had been a success. When the man braced himself against the table and dragged himself up to bring his used bowl back to the counter, Cas had to bite down on his lower lip, first to prevent himself rushing over to help him when he looked so very uncomfortable, and second to stop the idiotic grin from taking over his face at the man's thoughtfulness.

There was a stumbling conversation; Cas felt a need to find ways to keep the man talking, hearing himself blurting out several things that he knew he’d curse himself for later when he combed over their exchange in minute detail. But what Cas could already tell from just the few words they shared was that here was a man who was intelligent, probably very caring, and possibly in need of a lot of TLC, which Cas decided he would have no objection to administrating himself. Then chided himself for being so inappropriate.

Again, Cas chased away the images teasing him, already cursing himself for his fumbling _that makes us friends already_ line, though quickly storing away the name Dean to ponder over later and thinking just how well the name suited the face. When Cas had run out of excuses to hover over Dean in what he hoped was not a creepy way, he rewiped surfaces, restocked things that did not really need restocking, all to keep Dean in his eye line for as long as possible. In fact it had gotten so bad that he’d had to abruptly turn away from him so Dean couldn’t see the way Cas’ eyes lit up at the idea of Dean staying in the area. Cas even found himself half-relieved to be too busy with a sudden rush of customers to say goodbye to Dean properly, for fear of his treacherous tongue letting him down once again.

He did, however, have green eyes lingering in his mind long after Tea Tales closed, and allowed himself to hope that perhaps he’d earned himself at least a second—or in this case, third—visit sometime in the very near future. And if nothing else, thoughts of Dean occupied Cas’ mind enough throughout the rest of the evening for his mother’s harsh words to be toned down to mere occasional background noise that could be easily tuned out.

* * *

Sunday bled into Monday, and Monday passed more or less uneventfully until Tuesday arrived, announcing itself bright and sunny to accompany Cas on his morning run. Tuesday was Cas’ personal favorite day of the week, and its arrival always made him wake with a smile on his face and a bounce that got him out of bed with more enthusiasm than he could generally muster for any other occasion. Tuesday meant it was Book Night, and of itself was the reason Cas’ cafe had earned itself its name.

Cas had always loved reading; for him there was something both magical and comforting about losing himself in the worlds created between pages. He could live a thousand lifetimes this way, a hundred times over if he chose to, and though Cas knew such escapism wasn’t the answer to the loneliness that crept through his very bones if left unchecked, it was a very welcome distraction.

From the very first day of opening Tea Tales, books had formed an important cornerstone of the cafe. There were several bookcases situated around the cafe that were crammed with books, some donated, some discarded, and often they were swapped with other books or picked up to occupy busy hands whilst waiting for tea to be pressed into them instead. Cas always got a secret thrill out of bringing over tea to customers and finding them engrossed in one of these such books; though he found himself lost for what to say in most situations, Cas found making small talk about anything related to literature easier than anything, and would happily spend a few minutes discussing the books with their readers, perhaps recommending some further reading or even receiving suggestions for him to read himself.

Tea Tales had opened on a Thursday; it had just fallen that way given the signing of papers and the time taken to refurbish the place, organise a menu, source all of Cas' favourite places for his tea ingredients until everything was exactly how he'd pictured it to be when he'd first had the idea for the cafe. But Gabriel had scorned, saying Cas had planned it like that to open on the day of the angel Cas had been named after like it might bring him some luck, mumbling under his breath about if he had the strength of the Archangel he himself had been named after by their parents he'd kick ass. It was a sore point for Gabe, who regularly looked Cas up and down taking in his height and build and mumbled under his breath about being vertically challenged but making up for it in charisma.

Tuesday was special to Cas though, because of Book Night. Right from that very first Tuesday following Tea Tales opening Cas had hosted a book club there, a sign stuck in the window long before opening day attracting a surprising amount of people through the door. The evening started around seven and had initially been led in an informal fashion by Mark, the owner of the bookstore down the street from Tea Tales and someone who Cas would tentatively called a friend then doubt himself for being so presumptuous about. Mark seemed to like him well enough either way, however, and he still came into Tea Tales often, even coming to Book Night from time to time just to see how it was going. The book club had become a group of good friends, and the club just seemed to run itself; they proposed a new book each week, and sometimes tore it apart and devoured it line for line, where on other occasions the book was merely mentioned in passing, as daily life and trivia became the more important topic of conversation.

Cas' favorite part of Book Night came after the reviewing or not reviewing of the club's chosen book, however. The moment the book for the following week had been agreed on, and decisions made over desserts whilst teapots were refilled, someone would inevitably press a print-out or a book into Cas’ hand with a well-marked, loved passage, and Cas would sit on a tall stool in front of the counter and begin to read out loud. Though he still couldn’t quite remember how it had first happened Cas had a vague memory of grabbing a copy of a book chosen for the book club long ago and reading out something he’d found amusing, only to be met by a silent room full of captivated eyes asking for more.

There was such power in the storytelling, and the silence of the cafe as he spoke; for Cas, there was nothing quite like it. Cas was so far from exhibitionist that on good days he’d been called shy, and on bad ones socially-inept. But up on that stool, with a book in his hand, his eyes glancing over other books and sheets of paper around the cafe that were waiting to be handed to him to read out next, Cas allowed himself to feel at least temporarily good at something.

Cas carefully positioned the sign for Book Night in the window of the cafe, gave it another appraising once-over from outside to check everything was as it should be, and idly found himself wondering what the first passage he would be reading that evening might be from. With a quick check of his phone, Cas saw that he had about half an hour before people would start arriving for the book club, so made himself a quick sandwich knowing he’d not get time to eat anything else after if he didn’t.

Because the universe was cruel, Cas had just taken an unusually large bite of his sandwich in a bid to finish it quickly only to hear the cafe door open, and looked up from where he was sat behind the counter to find Dean standing there, greeting him with a warm smile. Cas felt his jaw stop moving and the sandwich sit heavy on his tongue, as Dean continued to smile back at him standing next to another man that Cas then wondered how he'd possibly missed seeing for his height.

“Cas,” Dean nodded, that smile growing wider as Cas swallowed his bite of sandwich with difficulty and attempted to keep himself from choking on it.

“Dean. It’s… good to see you again,” Cas flailed, swallowing repeatedly and feeling more idiotic by the second.

“Likewise,” Dean responded, a flicker of something appearing on his face for a moment before he cleared his throat and glanced over to his right.

“My brother. Sam. I might’ve mentioned he’s the one that dragged me in here in the first place,” And then Dean winced to himself as though he regretted his choice of words; Cas told himself he didn’t find that endearing at all.

“Literally,” Sam added, smiling in a perfect mirror of Dean’s own smile as he held his hand out over the counter for Cas to shake and nodded at Cas’ introduction. “Been coming here for a while now. My wife brought me one of your teas when I was working late one night, and it was like… magic. Kept me alert all night, and I slept like a baby straight after. Kinda why I’m here now, actually,”

Cas nodded quickly, happy for something to do and keep himself busy with, half-cursing at himself for not having already recognized Sam as a regular. Grabbing small amounts of ginkgo biloba, ginseng and ginger from different jars then adding a few pinches of other ingredients he thought would help for good measure, Cas struggled to find something to say to them both that might not be, or sound idiotic. “Am I right to assume that you are you working late tonight, Sam?”

“Yeah, got a caseload that I need to get through yesterday if I ever wanna see my desk—or bed again,” Sam laughed softly, and Cas turned to see Dean looking up at the tea-board once again silently mouthing the names of the teas to himself. Cas did not find that cute at all. Not one bit. Not at all.

“Caseload?” Cas repeated, forcibly dragging his eyes away from Dean to look at Sam.

Dean answered for him. “Yeah,” he huffed, rolling his eyes but not able to hide how very proud he was, “Sammy here’s a lawyer. Keeps godawful hours, wears slick suits. Still won’t get a haircut though,”

Cas grinned, half turning away again to prepare another teapot for Dean; Dean hadn’t even asked, but Cas was making him one anyway, adding little pinches of various ingredients that he thought might help with whatever pain Dean was in as well as lift that slight pinched look on his face that Cas was sad to see even more defined than the last time he’d seen him. The only time he had seen him, Cas amended to himself feeling ridiculous.

“Which firm?” Cas asked Sam instead, addressing him directly. When Sam reeled off the name of the law firm he worked for, Cas let out an involuntary groan and then laughed, shaking his head.

“I don’t suppose you have had the… luck… or _misfortune_ , even… to have come across a Gabriel Shurley, have you?” Cas asked dryly, imagining his brother doing courtroom battle with Sam, and finding himself enjoying the image a lot.

Sam snorted, giving a slow nod. “Uh, yeah. He’s… he’s… uh… charismatic?” he eventually settled on, screwing up his face in an attempt to find the words, which had Cas laughing hard all over again.

“He’s a dick,” Cas helped him out with readily, turning away briefly to check on the tea. “He also happens to be my brother. It appears you work for a rival to my father’s law practice, Sam,” to which Sam visibly blanched, which had Cas laughing gleefully again.

“Uh…”

“This means we are most definitely friends,” Cas added with triumph in both his voice and eyes, ducking into the dessert counter and pulling out the pie plate, noting with satisfaction the way Dean’s eyes watched his every move. He had to remind himself it was for the pie, and not he himself as he cut two large slices and put them in a takeout carton, but he’d take whatever was coming his way. “On the house. For hopefully messing with my brother at any and every opportunity. You have no idea how very happy that makes me,”

A few more minutes of idle conversation continued, during which Cas surprised himself by feeling none of the discomfort he normally would be, as they waited for the tea to brew. Cas discovered that Dean was currently living with Sam and had no real urgency to find a place of his own, that he was taking some time off of work—although the subject of what Dean did for a living was deftly avoided by both Dean and Sam, and that Dean’s plans for the evening involved keeping Sam company in his office in an effort to ensure he didn’t stay too late. Cas found that he was storing all of this information away and that each little fact amped up and added to the crush he could absolutely feel bubbling away beneath the surface leaving him giddy and silly and with an uncharacteristically permanent smile on his face.

“So what’s with the sign in the window? ‘ _Book night_?’” Dean asked, tilting his head over in the sign’s direction and fixing Cas with a smile that had him holding his breath.

“Book night,” Cas confirmed, “there is an informal book club here on Tuesday nights followed by some… readings,” and for some reason Cas found his face coloring, tapping his fingers erratically against the side of the counter just for something to do to distract himself at the thought of having to do that in front of Dean.

“Cas has got this place under some kind of spell, I swear,” Sam told Dean; Cas glanced up at him quickly half expecting to see that Sam was mocking him, but finding instead nothing but genuine warmth. Dean looked between the two of them silently for an explanation.

“People come here and just… hand over books and stuff for him to read out,” Sam said, nodding in Cas' direction, “everyone sits here sort of… mesmerized,” Sam smiled again, and Cas felt his cheeks flaring even hotter.

“You've been here to see, uh... _that_?” Cas voice was quiet as he asked, unable to keep the slight catch in his throat as he spoke.

“Twice,” Sam told him, “you even got Jess reading poetry after she heard you,”

Dean snorted, shaking his head incredulously, and for a moment Cas was crushed at the thought of Dean laughing at something he personally loved so much.

“Seriously?” Dean said, his tone full of disbelief, “gotta be something magical about you if you convinced Jess Winchester _I-won’t-read-it-unless-it’s-got-pictures-and-one-syllable-words_ to read something unprovoked. What are you, a shaman or something?”

The tension Cas had found building instantly slipped away under Dean’s look of obvious admiration; Cas sternly reminded himself it was purely for the reading, and not admiration of anything else.

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Sam told Dean with a gentle nudge into his side that Cas’ trained-eye could tell was usually a lot rougher. Cas had to bite down on his urge to ask Dean about whatever injury caused him to hold himself the way he did, and instead handed over the tea in a cup holder along with the carton of pie, smiling at them both and quietly thanking Sam as he slid money over the counter to him.

“I hope you will not be working too late, Sam,” Cas told him, and Sam let out a long sigh.

“You and me both. Thanks, Cas,” Sam replied, tilting his head in Dean’s direction. “Maybe we’ll come back for Book Night sometime.”

There was a look that passed between Sam and Dean then that Cas was desperate to interpret but could not; instead he smiled brightly, wished them both a good evening, and tried and failed to stop his eyes dragging down Dean’s back to his ass as he watched them leave. Crushes, Cas told himself wearily, were unwanted, uncomfortable, and unlikely to do him any favors. Though if he was going to find himself a little senseless for a time, Cas couldn't imagine a better person to be crushing on currently than Dean.

Thankfully for his wandering mind, the first few people started to trickle in for the book club then, and Cas busied himself with taking orders, forcing himself not to think about green eyes and a smile that he wished was all for him.

* * *

It was Saturday before Cas saw Dean in person again, though he had already spent a lot of time occupying Cas' mind in the days before. Cas looked up from behind the counter and let out an involuntary gasp of surprise to find Dean staring down at him where he sat sorting out labels for his teas. Cas had never really intended to sell his tea for other people to prepare at home, but every now and then one of his regulars would ask for a small gift basket, and Cas couldn’t help doing exactly as they asked of him, feeling a slight surge of pride each time they did. His fingers stilled over the packaging which crinkled a little under the sudden tension in his hands as he cleared his throat, attempting to speak without his voice squeaking.

“Hello, Dean,”

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, smiling and offering a quick wave.

“Have I successfully converted you to drinking tea?” Cas asked, his voice laced with mirth as he pressed his palms flat against the counter and hoisted himself to his feet.

Dean laughed, cuffing the back of his neck; Cas tracked the movement of his hand and had to force himself to look elsewhere. “‘Fraid not, Cas. I mean I like it good enough, you know? It’s just not—”

“Coffee?” Cas finished for him, cursing himself for the idiotic grin he felt creeping across his face.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed again, a little lighter this time.

“I have a confession to make, Dean,” Cas told him earnestly, leaning across the counter as though about to reveal a deep, disturbing secret, a thrill surging through him at how easy it was for him to be playful with Dean when he usually found such things difficult or complicated with most others.  
Cas’ heart gave one thick pound as Dean too leaned in, as though he was desperate to hear what Cas had to say. “I also drink coffee,” Cas whispered, one finger to his mouth to hold in the secret and a wink that came completely of its own accord.

This time, Dean’s head fell back as he gave out a hearty laugh, slapping a hand down on the counter and full on grinning at him. Cas’ heart jumped again, a little more rapid this time. “Isn’t that, like… blasphemous or something around here?” Dean teased him, his fingers steepled together across the counter after absently straightening up a couple of the books there that had looked in danger of falling.

Cas gave a sad nod, pursing his lips together as though he was genuinely contrite. “They will take away my tea license if they find out. I trust that this will go no further?”

“...There’s a tea license?”

This time it was Cas’ turn to snort with laughter, and the smile Dean gave him on hearing it had Cas catching his breath all over again.

“Funny, Cas. Real funny, mocking the uneducated. So how come you don’t just… sell coffee here too?”

Cas shrugged under Dean’s scrutiny, bringing his own hands up to steeple on the counter, very aware of the small distance between his own fingers and Dean’s. “I wanted to focus on the tea.”

“Can’t pretend I get it. But okay,” Dean told him easily, then straightened back up with a smile and lightly pressed his hands together. “So,”

“So,” Cas repeated, willing his heart to stop its fluttering and his cheeks to not blush as he was sure they were already doing; what was it about this man that was making him feel sixteen all over again?

“I need you to work your magic, Cas,” Dean told him, leaning in once more and making Cas' heart thrum.

“What do you need?” Cas went into full professional mode, looking Dean up and down, searching out the root of his problems once again. Which he definitely was going to resist asking about. Again.

“Jess. My sister-in-law? She’s on some killer sixteen-hour shift and says she’s got a headache from hell. Sam’s at the office again, she won’t get time to get down here on her break. She tells me you make a tea that clears up her head every single time?”

Cas nodded, spinning away and into action, muttering out loud by force of habit with, “Chamomile, ginger root, dried plums and peppermint with green tea. Something for yourself?”

Cas heard Dean shuffling behind him and turned back briefly, giving him a knowing smile. “You are going for coffee the moment you leave here,”

“...Yeah. I—”

“No,” Cas cut him off in a tone that was mock-wounded, “I understand. You come in here and eat my pie and—”

“I’ll take a slice of pie,” Dean added quickly; Cas grinned to himself but kept his eyes firmly on the tea he was preparing for a second before turning back and quickly pulling out the pie from the display counter. “I’ll… eat it here,”

Bringing up a plate from the counter to slide the pie on to, Cas pushed it across in front of Dean along with a fork, and turned back to his tea-making.

“What are you doing this weekend besides being kind to your sister-in-law?” Cas asked, turning back to Dean as the tea brewed behind him. He watched as Dean absently raised his hand to the back of his neck as he had before, unable to not see the slight stoop of his body and the bags under his eyes.

“Uh… honestly? Probably gonna just cook something for Sam and Jess when they get back later tonight. Maybe catch up on sleep since that’s not happening much for me lately,” Dean added in a faded tone that sounded more for himself than for Cas.

With only a second’s hesitation, Cas grabbed one of the bags he had been filling, added a few of the flowers and herbs he knew would help, and delicately put it down in front of Dean. “Lemon-balm. Dried apple. St John’s Wort. Chamomile. Valerian. Things which should help you sleep. Make a cup about a half hour before you intend to go to bed; it should make falling asleep easier.”

For a moment Cas thought that Dean was going to turn him down. He watched as Dean pinched up the small packet between his fingers and brought it up to his face to inspect its contents, then looked doubtfully over the top of it at Cas.

“Thanks, Cas. Can’t say I’m… I mean. This stuff really works?”

Cas shrugged, turning back and pouring the tea for Dean’s sister-in-law into a take-out cup, sliding it inside another to insulate it, finding himself momentarily brave. “You should report back and tell me,”

Dean’s smile then had Cas’ stomach flipping over in excitement. “Count on it,”

The aftermath of the wink Dean gave him as he was leaving was still on Cas’ face when Meg arrived, looking at him from under arched eyebrows with a predatory look about her. The corners of her mouth flinched upwards as Meg folded her arms tightly across her chest as she studied him shrewdly from across the counter, leaving Cas swallowing in discomfort attempting to fool himself into believing she wouldn't know anything was wrong.

“I know that look,” She told him, tease dripping from every word as Cas squirmed and thought of ways to try to deny it. He didn’t even have it in him to really try though; Meg knew him better than anyone else in the world. There would be no hiding it once she knew.

“What look?” he said anyway, wincing at the squeak in his voice as he made himself unnecessarily busy making sure everything was fully stocked for Claire since she would be closing the cafe today.

“The ‘I’m up to something and I’ve no way of hiding it’ look you’ve got going on.”

“I have no such look,” Cas denied, far too quickly, and doing nothing but causing Meg’s grin to bloom wicked.

“Name,” she demanded, pressing up against the counter so that Cas couldn’t avoid her eyes.

“There is no name,” he protested, jumping as Meg slapped a palm down loudly against the wood.

“Name,” She repeated in a tone that Cas new better than trying to argue with.

Cas thought about, then tried, then failed terribly at attempting to stare her out. With a defeated drop of his shoulders he turned his eyes briefly skyward then sighed out, “Dean,”

Meg, looking every bit pleased with herself, hopped up on a stool, cupped her chin in her hand and stared at him, the feeling of being sized up as prey just growing ever stronger for Cas. “Occupation?”

“I… I have no idea,” Cas stuttered back, shaking his head.

“Are we talking… hot customer/guy in a bar you've neglected to tell me about/fellow car parker that’s given you something for the wank bank—”

“Meg,” Cas whined out in embarrassed agony, blushing hard because as usual Meg had got exactly to the point; several times now thoughts of Dean had given Cas something to grip his hand around that he seemed powerless to ignore, and just that morning it had been Dean's name on his lips as he'd got himself off in the shower after his run.

“Or,” Meg carried on, as though unaware—or uninterested in Cas’ mortification as she thoroughly looked him over. “You haven’t had that look on your face since you were crushing on that professor giving the guest lectures on melittology you made me attend with you,”

Cas found himself holding his breath, eyes anywhere but on Meg’s as he attempted to defend himself. “He happened to have a very effective method of teaching—”

“He had a cute ass,” she snorted, laughing her head off, and with that, Meg leaned forward, triumph lighting up her eyes. “It’s a crush.”

Cas thought about denying it, despite knowing it was pointless, for all of a second, then let his head fall forward and give a reluctant nod.

“How bad are we talking here?” she asked, lowering her gaze until Cas had no choice but to look back up at her. Cas said nothing, but watched in horror at the way her face lit up even more after studying him even harder.

“Oh, it’s bad. It’s really, really, really bad, isn’t it?”

Cas sighed, wiping a tired hand across his face and nodding in dejection. “Yes, Meg. It is ‘bad’.”

* * *

 

 


	4. A hurdle from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

In what currently felt more like a former life instead of an occupation he was taking an enforced break from, Dean had been a firefighter, and firefighting had been all Dean had ever known. The fire station was his home, the crew once his extended family, the fires themselves his very reason to exist. Dean's earliest childhood memory, or at least the one he chose to think of as first, was of his dreams of becoming just that, a firefighter. From brightly scrawled fire trucks in kindergarten to studying mock entry exams for the fire service late into the night along with, or more often than not instead of his regular school work, the plan had been in place for Dean from the age of four.

Dean had always tactfully ignored the looks of pity he'd received as he'd grown up, instead focusing on the objective of his chosen career—to save people—rather than his reason for doing it, proudly squaring his shoulders against the commenting, and ignoring the whispering that went on behind his back. As a teenager Dean had volunteered at the local fire department, sweeping out floors and checking on hoses, even learning something of the mechanics of the fire trucks that Dean had pictured himself riding on from as early as he could remember. As department chief, his unofficial uncle Bobby had taken him under his wing, providing a much needed father figure in his life when his dad either did a disappearing act or slept off hangovers for days on end, unaware of the needs of his two young boys who tiptoed around him to avoid his temper on being disturbed. And that was on his better days.

Dean pushed away his unwanted trip down memory lane and glanced up at the station with a grimace, gripping a little harder to the steering wheel but still unable to make himself physically move. He'd been living with Sam and Jess for a little over a month now, and despite Sam's constant reassurance that he didn't need to push himself, Dean couldn't help the guilt he felt at not being able to work. True, financially he was contributing to the household thanks to savings, insurance payouts, and now the very recent sale of the house. And also true, Dean was in no fit state to be doing anything where he'd need to be reliable anyway, so working was out of the question. But since Dean had worked in some capacity since the age of about fourteen, having so much free time on his hands did not sit well for him.

Dean grimaced once more to himself and let his head fall back onto the headrest as he closed his eyes in defeat. This month had passed quicker than Dean had thought possible, and the time had disappeared in a whirl of rediscovering his love of drawing, a couple of game nights at Charlie's comic store that had turned out to be a whole lot more fun than he'd been expecting, and slowly regaining his strength and mobility.

Charlie's number was firmly stored in his phone, and he'd started exchanging geek out messages with her once or twice a day. Dean found he got on pretty well with the other people that attended the evenings, especially Charlie's girlfriend Gilda and their friend Ash who she referred to as her nemesis because they both worked with computers.

Most nights, Dean also rediscovered how much he enjoyed cooking for other people, feeling better for knowing Jess and Sam were coming home to good meals if he could offer them little else. It still amazed him how bad Sam was at cooking, and that he'd somehow managed to meet someone equally as bad as him in Jess. It just didn't seem possible, or feasible, that two people who looked so in control in every other aspect of their daily lives could barely boil an egg without getting it wrong. Secretly Dean believed that was why they ate so much salad; not to be healthy, but because it was usually pre-prepared and they barely had to lift a finger.

Dean had even found excuses to keep returning to Tea Tales to see a certain blue-eyed cafe owner, from thanking him for the tea that surprisingly did seem to be helping him sleep, to conveniently having to pick something up for either Sam or Jess. He tried not to be too obvious, to act as though he wasn't looking for Cas in particular, but on the two occasions when the only person working there had been Claire, the teasing grin she'd given him told him she was on to him.

Dean felt a little thrill in the pit of his stomach every time he walked through the door of the cafe, cursing himself a little for even being attracted to Cas in the first place since there was no way in hell someone as incredible as Cas would ever look back at him in the same way. They'd spoken more than a few times, with Cas always pausing and taking a few minutes to just stand and chat with him; Dean was convinced that Cas was feeling sorry for him but couldn't bring himself to shy away like he normally would on the receiving end of someone's pity. Instead, he found himself basking in his company, whatever the reason for it.

Dean opened his eyes again, in doing so cutting off the thoughts of Cas that were creeping into his mind and he had no place even imagining. Scowling across the street at the fire station once more as though it was to blame for his predicament of not being able to go in, Dean let out a long frustrated sigh. This was the third time he'd pulled up and just sat and stared at the place, knowing full well he wasn't anywhere near ready to go in, but not wanting to have to admit it out loud.

With another sigh and a mumbled curse at himself under his breath, Dean steered the car out into traffic and watched the station grow small in his rearview mirror.

* * *

Dean's haste to get away from the station was two-fold; firstly because he really wasn't ready to be there yet despite his constant need to keep on trying, and secondly because he had to make himself look at least as presentable as he was able in his current state. Since he'd arrived at Sam's, Dean had found himself taking a lot more care than normal over his appearance, looking at every line on his face and every fault he could see with his body, gritting his teeth together and on occasion forcing eye contact in the mirror until it was too hard and he had to look away again.

He hated feeling as though he needed to make an effort most of the time; even when Dean had time to himself to go out long ago his idea of getting ready back then had been putting on a slightly better shirt and giving himself the once over in the mirror. But there was so much wrong with him now, that if he didn't make the effort he did Dean felt people might really see him, and that was something he really, truly wasn't ready for yet. But for some occasions, making himself look presentable was not a chore, and especially this night, since it was the first time he'd had chance to come and listen to Cas read.

After as quick a change of clothes as possible Dean parked up across from Tea Tales feeling a skip of excitement in his chest at even from this distance seeing Cas working through the window. Dean nodded when he entered the cafe, returning Cas' welcoming smile, and settled himself down at a table in a corner where he thought he'd probably get the best view. He'd been back to Tea Tales so many times now that he no longer had to order anything; Cas had stopped asking what he wanted, and Dean was more than happy to leave things in Cas' very capable hands.

Hands which Dean had developed a little obsession with staring at, he reminded himself as Cas carefully slid what had become _his_ cerulean blue teapot in front of him along with its matching cup and a plate of pie. Even the previous night; for the first time since long before the fire Dean had slid an uncertain hand down over his boxers surprised to feel the bulge swelling there, and thinking of what Cas' hand might do to him in place of his own making it jolt against his palm. He'd not done anything about it, feeling too nervous at the prospect, but the urge had been there nonetheless.

“Will you join in the book club? I have the book for tonight on my Kindle if you would like to take a look,” Cas asked him, thankfully oblivious to Dean's musings, smiling down at Dean in a way that had his heart jumping in ridiculous enthusiasm.

“Prob'ly not,” Dean reached out and tapped the sketchpad he'd brought along with him, “probably draw something until you start. You know. With the reading,”

Inwardly, Dean cursed himself for the way his voice cracked as he spoke, and he busied himself with taking up a forkful of pie, sighing around it appreciatively. Cas' eyes dropped to Dean's lips for a second and he froze, but the glance was brief; Cas was already clearing his own throat, nodding over to some customers that had just arrived and very lightly gripping Dean's shoulder as he walked over to serve them.

Dean watched as the cafe filled, eyes on Cas' every measured and precise move as he weaved between the tables chatting to the customers about their books with ease, then quickly looking away again to his open sketchpad and the pencil between his fingers every time Cas looked in his direction, which Dean told then berated himself for thinking might be pretty often. With a swirling of anticipation in his gut building throughout the evening, Dean's pencil rolled on to the table abandoned as he finally saw Cas climb on to a stool, book in hand, clearing his throat once again. Dean's own throat dried out about three seconds in, and he sat staring unashamedly, completely losing track of everything else as Cas spoke.

* * *

Listening to the last of the other customers leave, Dean hurriedly tidied his things together, wanting to be the last one out of the cafe to maybe get a chance to speak to Cas, but also not to look as though he was lingering too long to do exactly that. With a curse under his breath at the stiffness that had seeped into him from sitting too long Dean dragged himself to his feet and turned, letting out a small gasp to find Cas standing right behind him.

“I did not mean to startle you,” Cas said in the tone that Dean had lost himself to for most of that evening.

"S'ok," Dean stammered out, smiling awkwardly and turning back to pick up his sketchpad, only to be stopped by Cas' hand reaching out and hovering uncertainly over the cover.

“May I?” Cas said, nodding to the sketchpad for permission. With a hard swallow Dean nodded, allowing Cas' fingers to wrap around the pad and lift it up, the paper creaking against the spiral binder as Cas carefully leafed his way through.

“These are good, Dean,” Cas told him with an honest, open smile, skimming his fingertips along the outlines of images and raising his eyes to look at Dean warmly, “how long have you been drawing?”

“Uh,” Dean tried, feeling self-conscious, “guess I was always drawing as a kid. Kind of stopped for a while a—few years ago, now, but. Since I've time on my hands right now, figured I'd give it a go again,"

“You really should continue, Dean; this is beautiful work,”

Dean blushed under Cas compliments but said nothing.

“Do you ever consider doing this professionally?” Cas continued, staring back so honest and curious that it captured Dean right where he stood.

“No,” Dean quickly shook his head, “no, 's just a bit of fun. I don't wanna—I mean—I've no interest in making it into a career or anything,"

“You are yet to tell me what it is that you do for a career,” Cas pointed out with obvious, innocent curiosity written all over his face. This level of undivided attention had Dean freezing up immediately and completely unexpectedly. The question wasn't difficult, nor was the answer one he would ever be ashamed of either. But for reasons he couldn't explain Dean felt trapped, as though the cafe they were currently stood in had suddenly been sucked of all its oxygen.

“Uh—” Dean stuttered out thickly, trying and failing to find words, "I—I'm—not working right now,"

Cas nodded without the slightest appearance of judgement or intention of intruding, and somehow Dean found himself feeling even worse for it.

“I should be getting back,” Dean added, mentally screaming at himself for essentially running away to avoid Cas' question, but unable to actually stop himself from doing so.

“Dean—”

“I'll—I'll catch you later, Cas,” and with that Dean stumbled out of the cafe, fighting through the aches and pains and frustration that surged through him then threw himself into the Impala with a continual stream of curses.

* * *

Sleep hadn't come for Dean that night; on top of the fact that it was always a difficult thing for him to do anyway, there was the rehashing of when the evening had so suddenly soured for him that kept him awake, and of course his blatant refusal to drink Cas' tea. Since he'd fled from the cafe for no good reason, Dean felt so utterly ashamed of himself that he refused to use something given by Cas in such kindness to help himself in any way at all.

One look from Sam in the morning told Dean that he looked just as bad as he felt, and before Sam could offer sympathy or ask questions Dean helped himself to coffee and took himself back to bed. When he'd killed what felt like adequate time staring up at the ceiling and surging between self-loathing and self-pity, Dean dragged himself up, forced his way through a shower and the treatment of his skin, then returned to the kitchen with the idea of fixing something to eat despite how hungry he wasn't feeling, only to find a note from Sam.

_Hey_

_Don't know what's eating you this morning but_ _we_ _need to eat; can you pick up some stuff? (Call me if you need anything - to talk or whatever)_

_Sam_

Followed by a short list of groceries. Dean sighed to himself, slumping down against the table then wincing at his efforts, had a tiny flicker of amusement at what Sam seemed to deem as essentials on his grocery list then going back to feeling dejected all over again. He had no objection whatsoever to almost anything Sam asked of him, but today the thought of leaving the house was crippling.

After a breakfast that he took so much time over his coffee went cold, Dean steeled himself full of reluctance and forced his way out of the house. On the drive to the store and down each and every aisle, Dean half-expected to bump into Cas, to have to explain himself, to have to have his stupidity put on full display and try to find reasons for his behaviour which he had been yet to so far. He didn't run into Cas at all.

What happened instead was that Dean went back to Sam's after shopping, paced his way through rooms, even taking a walk in the garden. His mind wandered, from worrying about his slow-recovering injuries to what caused them in the first place, to where, or what, his future would bring. Which felt stranger than anything else; Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd ever thought about longer term than tomorrow.

Dean thought to himself how much nicer things might have been if he had happened to run into Cas, to have the distraction from everything that was currently taunting him on repeat. Then told himself that was unfair as well, for thinking of Cas as nothing more than a distraction, and Dean ended up cursing himself all over again.

Feeling just as guilty for reaching out when all he was attempting to do was forget his own stupidity, Dean stared down at his phone for several minutes with his thumbs paused over the buttons, then typed a message to Charlie.

_Going stir crazy here_

Proving Dean's theory that Charlie was, in fact, permanently attached to her phone, there came the instant reply of

_Come to the store_

If Dean was honest with himself, that was exactly the response he had been looking for.

* * *

“So? Why the crazy?” Charlie asked, handing him a cup of coffee and holding out a box of donuts for Dean to choose from. Though not in the slightest bit hungry Dean took a large bite out of his donut yet again stalling for more time, knowing Charlie well enough already to know she would absolutely not back down.

“Not sleeping, you know? Not exactly working right now either; I'm kinda used to being busy,"

“So come help me out couple of days a week,” Charlie suggested with an easy shrug, “I can invent stuff for you to do, like—colour coding and cross-referencing and—it'll be cool!”

Dean snorted and shook his head. "No offense, Charlie, but—if you've gotta invent stuff for me to do? Kinda pointless,"

Charlie shrugged again as though Dean's response was something she'd expected. “So... just come keep me company then. Like you're doing now. Tell me all your deepest, darkest secrets,”

“Yeah, 'cos that sounds real appealing,” Dean smiled; it was both strange and a comfort that he already felt so very at ease here in Charlie's store, how she'd already become a feature in his life. He wondered for a moment if this was how life was supposed to be when it went easy, when there weren't other people to care for or clean up after. When you could simply be yourself.

“Okay, okay, let's start small,” Charlie shrugged, apparently undeterred. “Met anyone worth a second look here yet?”

Cas' face immediately came into Dean's head and he felt his cheeks heat.

“A ha!” Charlie's exclamation came with a triumphant, wide-eyed shuffle of excitement. “Tell me tell me tell me,”

“Uh...”

"C'mon, Dean, gimme the goods,"

Dean stared back at Charlie for another moment then swallowed carefully, weighing out his words before forcing himself to speak them. “There's—there's this guy—”

“I _knew_ it —”

“Knew what?” Dean bit back, but without malice; the laughter dancing around his answer showing nothing but affection.

“Nothing,” Charlie said, giving a small shake of her head that barely concealed her smile. “Forget I said it. So?”

“Just—just a guy, okay?”

When Charlie folded her arms showing she wasn't planning on budging, Dean cuffed the back of his neck and found a way to stumble over his own words. “He's—about my height. Crazy hair. Bluest eyes you've ever seen. Hot,” he added, allowing the word to come out easy as though it wouldn't have once been an admission tainted by fear of judgment.

Charlie punched the air, still thoroughly excited. “Where? When? Got his number? What's his name?”

“Uh,” Dean began, shaking his head in doubt. “No. I—uh—”

“Dean, stop holding back on me,”

Dean's shoulders dropped again, unable to stop smiling at her. “He—he—actually he works near here,”

“Let's go see him,” Charlie punched out immediately, already grabbing up her keys and making to leave.

“What? Uh, no way,” Dean laughed, but feeling Charlie's enthusiasm filter through his mood and cut out the darkness that had sat there since yesterday.

“You ashamed of me or something, Dean?”

“No,” Dean laughed again, feeling even brighter. “No, but this is—new, okay? You'll scare him off.”

Charlie pointed at her chest and fixed him with a look that was mock wounded then laughed easily, shrugging her shoulders. “At least tell me something. Where's he work?”

Another moment of hesitating; Dean held his breath, then blurted out, “He owns Tea Tales. You know. Just a little down from—”

Charlie's eyes grew impossibly bigger, her grin even wider; Dean didn't know what to think or where to look. “Tea Tales? Your crush is on the dreamy tea man? That is some good effort there, I am proud of you, Dean. And thoroughly approve of course. Let's go get some tea,”

“No,” Dean was adamant, the thought of the gleeful way Charlie was staring at him being trained on Cas instead, and instantly panicked, “absolutely no way,”

“I promise I'll be on my best behavior,” Charlie pleaded, actually clasping her hands together as though begging; Dean reached out to gently squeeze around her wrists and pulled them down again until her arms were swinging by her sides.

“Not—not today, okay? Maybe some other time—”

“Why not today?”

“I—I—I should probably speak to him on my own first,”

Charlie nodded slowly and sank back down into her chair, Dean over with a sage look on her face that had Dean feeling like he wanted to shrink into himself. “What did you do?”

“How'd you know I did anything?”

“Dean—”

Dean sighed, slumping and instantly straightening back up at the taut uncomfortable pull of his skin, then leaned his elbows on to the counter before sliding them away with a wince at the pain of it and tangled his hands together on his lap.

“Maybe I—maybe I freaked out a little when he asked me something,”

Charlie settled herself on to her own stool and leaned over to look at him intently. “Tell me everything,”

* * *

"I'm—I'm sorry I ran out of here in a hurry the other day," Dean managed to stammer out after what felt like too long of Cas staring at him and not being able to read the expression there.

It had taken that very long, painful conversation with Charlie and yet another sleepless night before Dean could bring himself to face Cas again. He was currently perched a little precariously on a stool at Cas' counter feeling as though his recovery had taken a step backward with how much pain he was in. If he could just manage one decent night's sleep, he thought to himself, shifting uncomfortably and under Cas intense stare, still waiting for him to speak, then maybe everything wouldn't hurt so much.

“Okay,” Cas replied; Dean heard caution and guardedness in Cas' voice and didn't like it one bit, knowing he was the one who had put it there. Cas was his friend—a new one, maybe, but Dean didn't need anyone else to tell him he shouldn't be letting his insecurities impact other people.

“Look—I—it's not—”

“You do not need to explain yourself to me, Dean,” Cas told him softly, and Dean's heart pounded to hear it in case the words meant that his apology was already too late, “we do not owe each other any explanations. We do not know each other that well—”

“But I'd like to,” Dean blurted out, desperate to have Cas understand; his throat constricted in the aftermath of his words and his eyes blew wide. The very air around him seemed to still, and Dean cursed himself for the dramatic way he held his breath. The guard on Cas' face slipped; Dean saw a glimmer of hope cross before Cas could rein it back in.

“I mean—” Dean stammered, thinking to take it back again but then stopped himself. What he'd said was nothing but true after all. “I mean,” he tried again, clearing his throat, aware of the redness to his cheeks, “I meant just that. I'd- it'd be great if we knew each other better,”

Dean found himself sitting perfectly still as Cas' gaze drifted over his face, as though searching for the truth of his words. When the inspection was over the corners of Cas' lips twitched up into a smile, and Dean allowed himself to exhale.

“If you have no objection to waiting until I have closed the cafe, Dean... would you like to join me for a coffee?”

Dean's face must have been a picture, because before he could even respond Cas was letting out a warm, earthy chuckle that had Dean's stomach flip.

* * *

"I'm a—I mean I used to be a—" Dean scowled at himself, carefully going over his words once again. “I am. A firefighter,”

Cas, sat opposite Dean in this small diner they'd walked to after closing Tea Tales, slowly returned his mug from where he'd been lifting it to his mouth down to the table with a soft clunk. “A firefighter,”

“Yep,” Dean said, nodding and taking a sip of coffee himself, closing his eyes at the taste. “Regular rescuing kittens from trees, and kids' heads stuck between park railings. The whole shebang,”

Dean would have been blind not to see the assessing, calculated way Cas' eyes drifted over him then, and instantly stiffened up, not knowing what that assessment meant.

“That is an incredibly brave occupation, Dean,” Cas said, with a slight hitch of something between wonder and admiration in his voice.

“Someone's gotta do it,” Dean replied with an easy shrug, that stiffness dropping away again. “Sides. I love it. Wanted to do it since I was a kid, got straight into it right out of school,”

“If it is not too personal a question,” Cas started hesitantly then, checking Dean's face for a reaction. Dean tilted his chin to tell him to continue. “I—may I ask—may I assume—that the reason you are not currently working is due to an accident at work?”

Dean gripped knuckle-white to his mug and flinched, his stomach churning thick, despite telling himself it was a stupid reaction because it was a logical assumption to make.

“You do not need to tell me. But—”

“How'd you guess?” Dean interrupted with anyway, stuck for anything else to say, his eyes down to the table and missing the concern in Cas', “Or is it completely obvious?”

Cas took a long, whistling breath, pressing back against the edge of the table with a stretch. “An educated guess. I have—noticed the way you hold yourself, Dean. How—how much pain you appear to be in sometimes,” Dean looked up to find sorrow in Cas' expression then, but not the pity that would have had him dragging himself to his feet and leaving had it been from anyone else.

“And you always wear long sleeves, and so many layers,” Cas continued, eyes flitting for a moment to the nervous way Dean tugged on his shirt cuffs. “Forgive me for assuming—”

“How'd you notice all that?” Dean asked instead, seeming to surprise Cas with the question.

“I—have studied kinaesthetics. And I like to think I am a good judge of people,”

Dean smiled, the slight frown he felt forming doing nothing to take away the warmth there on his face. “How—you—you been studying me a lot, Cas?”

“You are exceptionally pleasant to look at, Dean,” Cas replied instantly; now it was Dean's turn to watch Cas become flustered and blush at his own honest, open words.

“'Exceptionally pleasant to look at'?” Dean repeated, thoroughly amused, loving the way the blush on Cas' cheeks crept down his neck.

“Yes,” Cas said, the word coming out sharp, embarrassed but defiant, “yes. You are,”

Dean's smile grew wider and he allowed his own eyes to give a deliberate sweep over Cas, debating what he should say in response and only able to come up with, “pretty hot yourself,”

Cas took his turn to blush a shade darker, and Dean took that moment to gather his thoughts, to try to organize the words he wanted to get out and carefully lock away the ones he didn't.

“There—there was a fire at this—hell hole of a bar. Kitchen fire. Guy cooking musta taken his eyes off the grill for a second; when he turned back the whole place was alight. The extractor fans—and—everything, I guess. Well they'd not exactly gone to town on cleaning any time recently, and so that didn't help. And—you know. Kinda in flame heaven, really, all that flammable cooking oil, and liquor, and—place went up like an out of control campfire,”

"I wasn't even s'pposed to be on, you know? Got maybe a block from home and got the call, told it was an all hands on deck kinda deal given the location and how the neighboring buildings were at risk. And—when I got there, it was bad. I mean it wasn't even really the worst I've ever seen, but—it was bad,"

“Were there fatalities?” Cas asked in a small voice as though he wasn't sure whether he should be interrupting or not.

“Three,” Dean nodded, unconsciously clenching his jaw; an action Cas' eyes drifted to but said nothing about.

Dean sat perfectly still as Cas looked him over, bracing himself for questions he was in no way ready to answer but would do his best to stumble through for Cas, surprising himself with the importance he'd placed on Cas' opinion of him already. But all Cas did was smile softly, not in a pitying way either, just an understanding one that surprisingly left Dean feeling strong.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Dean. It cannot have been easy for you,”

With a deft, delicate change of subject, Cas asked other questions; about how Dean was finding living with Sam, if he'd put any more thought into staying in the area, what he'd been drawing and doing of late. Dean found himself relaxing more, almost melting into Cas' presence and sinking into the comfort it gave him. Dean realized it wouldn't take very much at all for him to fall hard for Cas, denying to himself that he was halfway there already, because it was far, far too soon. And besides that; Dean knew he didn't deserve anyone as good as the man before him, or anyone at all, so spent much of the rest of the evening making his answers light and easy, keeping everything as neutral as possible.

But when Cas reached across the Impala's front seat to gently squeeze over Dean's hand in thanks for dropping him home after the diner, Dean was sure they lingered there for a good few seconds longer than simple thanks would need. The look in Cas' eyes was impossible for Dean not to find himself interpreting as meaning something a whole lot more than tentative friendship. And on the drive back to Sam's, Dean's head was full of Cas; there seemed little he could do or think about without it all heading straight back to him.

 _Too soon_ , became his mantra, _too broken_ his reason to walk away and not taint Cas with even thoughts of him. But it was impossible; this place already felt like home, and Cas an integral part of it. So what if it was only a few weeks that they'd known each other? Dean had spent more time with Cas over that time than he'd spent with actual girlfriends in the past. If neither one of them were pushing this and they could drift into something easily, then what would be so very wrong about that? _You_ , a snide voice said, _you are what's wrong with it_ , far too loud for Dean to ignore.

With a glimpse up at Sam's house Dean gripped the steering wheel tight for a second then pushed his way out of the car, mindful of making too much noise because Jess was on an overnight and might still be asleep. Walking quietly past Sam and Jess' bedroom told Dean otherwise, and he sped up to get to his room with both a smile and a grimace written all over his face.

In the solace of his own room Dean was thankful as he was continually thankful that it had an ensuite bathroom that he didn't have to share. His eyes drifted over the surfaces at his assortment of creams, treatments and even bandages he occasionally needed if he couldn't trust himself not to scratch at his skin in the night, imagining how crammed everything would look if he had to share the space with anybody else – and the continual fear of them walking in on him looking like he now did.

Stripping himself down for a shower Dean reached out to turn the water on, seconds later stepping under its warm stream and sighing at the feel of it sluicing down his neck. Dean angled his head from side to side to enjoy the feeling across his shoulders as well, then picked up the mild soap he'd got accustomed to using following coming out of hospital and lathered himself up. He had a brief memory of the hospital, of being hooked up to numerous intravenous fluids meant to help him with his recovery then forced them away, concentrating instead on the uneven terrain that was now vast stretches of his skin beneath his palm.

Dean wasn't a vain man; at least he'd always hoped he wasn't, knowing he was lucky enough to be thought of as attractive yet often embarrassed for it when people told him as much. Though that was before; and there was more than one _before_ in Dean's life that had shaped the way he both looked and behaved now, having first given up any sense of his own life when he wasn't working to clean up after and care for his Dad who had been so ill with his drinking, and second had the accident that put him in the physical state he now was. It had been so very long since Dean had even had the time to notice even passing attraction to someone that now that he actually had noticed, it seemed impossible anyone would ever notice him back.

It appeared though, that whatever story Dean was telling himself his body wasn't willing to listen. With a reluctant sigh Dean glanced down to see his cock rising under the stream of the shower; a single thought of Cas later, and it was standing more proudly, hanging weighty and uncomfortable for being neglected for so long. It was pathetic, Dean told himself then, staring at himself bob and jolt for attention under the shower spray, how he felt so unwilling to do anything about it. It wasn't like he couldn't do with the release, after all, and who knows? It might even help him sleep.

Taking a breath, Dean dropped his hand down and wrapped it around his length, his head falling back instantly and the shower cubicle echoing out with his moan. His free hand pressed against the wall as Dean dropped his head forward again, staring down at his cock slipping out of the grip of his fingers, and the tightness of the heat already coiling through him had Dean thinking his knees might be about to give.

Dean thought of Cas; there was no control Dean had in himself to prevent it from happening. If Cas had been under this spray, with all that beautiful skin on display for Dean to get his hands on, oh, Dean thought, speeding up, where would he want to even start? But then if Cas really were here with him, Dean asked himself, slowing and loosening his grip again, would Cas be repulsed by him? Take one look at the mess that was his skin, and walk straight back out? The thought had Dean dropping himself altogether, turning off the shower and stepping out of it.

He hadn't been in the shower long enough to fully steam up the glass of the mirrors; Dean grabbed a towel anyway and gave them a long swipe, sliding it down to one side and bracing himself to look, then remembering that as well as the ones over the sink there was another to his side that went almost all the way down to the floor. His feet moving with such hesitant reluctance meant it took Dean a good few minutes to turn himself around. And then he looked; across much of his chest, patches of his upper arms and the fronts of his thighs, then to his back as he forced himself to spin around. In short, he was covered in burns, some already fading into scars and whorling up his skin in places then stretching it out in others, and other places just appearing sunburnt; it didn't matter which way he looked, he was a mess.

A sob escaped Dean's lips then, a furious, angry blast out at it all. Any thoughts of Cas being there with him and Dean wanted to cover himself; shield himself from disgusted eyes or even worse, pitying ones. Dean's heart sank, his earlier arousal waning, and even with a stroke over himself with his eyes on his hand in the mirror did nothing. In dejection Dean turned himself away, dried himself carefully, then began his night time skincare routine. When it was dry Dean dressed himself and slid down into his bed, far too alert to even consider sleeping. And when sleep finally came to claim him, just as the sun was coming up, the last thoughts he had were of Cas.

* * *

 

  
  



	5. For an audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

Cas took in the angry body language of the couple stood on the sidewalk in front of him and grit his teeth, trying to concentrate instead on his own breathing and the stretch and pull of his muscles as he ran. The closer he got, the angrier they sounded; Cas caught fragments of an argument he did not want to be privy to yet still felt wounded by, speeding up for a few paces as he passed until they were far behind him.

Cas hated confrontation, avoiding it at every possible point throughout his life. Having grown up in a house with parents constantly bickering at each other at a pitch that sometimes left him cowering and shaking in his bedroom willing them to stop, once he'd left home Cas had vowed to do everything in his power to avoid any kind of conflict whatsoever. Gabe told him once that he was real the reason he'd chosen to go into law, not because he felt any kind of obligation to follow their dad into his practice; Gabe might have been an annoying tease of an older brother who spent far too much time in planning ways to infuriate him, but he was also the buffer protecting and distracting Cas from their parents' constant fighting.

Cas smiled then, thinking of his brother and looking forward to seeing him at the weekend; they hadn't seen each other in perhaps a month now, and Cas was almost braced and ready for the barrage of stories and teasing and who knows what other mischief Gabe was planning on slinging at him.

Cas' thoughts instantly turned to Dean, because there wasn't a chance in hell Gabe wouldn't make his life a nightmare if he knew about this ridiculous crush of his. Idly, Cas wondered about the chances of keeping Gabe away from Meg so the two of them couldn't gang up on him then grimaced, because there would be no chance at all, since they never missed an opportunity to first snipe at each other then turn their combined efforts on to Cas every time they met up. And this weekend, they'd be spending at least a few hours in each other's company without Cas' supervision; who knew what nightmares they would brew up together for him?

Cas pushed himself a little harder along the final blocks of his run, Dean inevitably filling his thoughts now he'd let the idea in. It had really only been a few weeks if he were practical about this, but Meg was right; Cas really hadn't crushed this hard in a long, long while. Cas grimaced to himself but allowed his mind to wander, giving into it because it was easier than fighting, losing himself in green eyes and kind smiles and hands that he'd watched surreptitiously as Dean had sketched in his cafe. In doing so and without intention, Cas allowed his mind to wander further still.

Aside from a few short-term experiences in college, Balthasar had been the one real relationship in Cas' life. They'd shared everything together: ridiculous names—Balt's words, not his, a home, a love of literature and cooking, and so many other things that they were just the perfect fit. But those five years together, sharing a home for almost four of them, had counted for nothing when Balt was offered work back in England seemingly out of the blue.

“You're walking through this life aimlessly like you don't know where you're going, or what you even want, Castiel. I need more than that, don't you see?” had been Balt's final words after he'd dropped his bombshell, with Cas returning from the bookstore he'd been working in at the time to find Balt knee deep in boxes and several already-packed suitcases. No prior warning, no telltale signs, nothing. One minute Balthasar was Cas' life, and then he was gone.

After that, Cas had been numb. Questioning his every action, going over every conversation he and Balthasar had ever shared, trying to work out where he'd gone wrong. Then one day, Cas had woken and told himself to stop being ridiculous. Made peace with the end of the relationship, retreated even further into himself, and since hadn't indulged in or felt anything more than occasional, fleeting attraction for anyone.

How Dean had come to change that in such a short period of time was a mystery to Cas, but he wasn't going to question it. Since Dean's remorseful apology for his hesitance to share what he did for a living and their subsequent coffee together, Cas had acknowledged a spark of something that was too good to ignore. A wicked smirk took over Cas' face then uninvited; Dean's admission that he was a firefighter had rendered Cas temporarily stupid, his mind ghosting with images that were far from appropriate. But there was definitely a _something_ between them, perhaps a little more one-sided from his own perspective, it was true —but something nonetheless. Dean wanted to get to know him after all, didn't he? He'd said almost those very words himself.

Cas found himself liking that thought a lot.

Cas returned from his run and snatched up his phone that he'd left on the kitchen table, his breath catching a little at the sight of a message from Dean. They'd exchanged numbers under the pretence of Cas wanting Dean to send pictures of his latest artwork when he wasn't in the cafe – which he was fairly often, Cas reminded himself, pleased—and had taken to sending each other at least a couple of messages every day—nothing profound, usually random, sometimes with the clear excuse of just wanting to be in contact.

Dean's message of,

_Reckon some of your magic tea'll sort my sore throat out?_

Cas replied immediately to with a,

_Come down to the cafe after four and we will find out ;)_

And was followed by Cas wincing at the emoticon he'd just sent, holding his breath for a reply. Barely two minutes later he got a

_See you then ;)_

back, and Cas' heart skipped a little, before he forced himself to drink and head for the shower.

* * *

He was not, Cas told himself firmly, jumping at every tinkling bell that announced the arrival of a customer as soon as four o'clock hit. He hadn't purposely come in earlier to make pie; it was just that it was a popular seller and he didn't want the counter to be empty. And it didn't mean anything, Cas chided himself, that he'd already set aside the ingredients for tea he knew would soothe any sore throat, as well as made sure there was enough of his favorite honey to add to it in case Dean didn't like the flavor too much.

The door opened again and Cas' heart thumped then sank, and it took all his will to stop himself from groaning out loud.

“Hey, Clarence,” Came the silky tones that announced Meg's arrival. She walked up and around the counter to nudge against him in a gesture almost as old as their friendship, then helped herself to a slice of cake before hopping up on to a stool. "What ya up to?"

“Meg,” Cas replied, attempting and failing to keep his voice from coming out anything other than it usually did. Meg instantly narrowed her eyes at him and looked him up and down.

“Spill,”

“There is nothing to—”

“Castiel,” Meg said, before scraping up the last piece of her cake and swallowing it down without even breaking eye contact, “you've got that vibe going on,”

“Vibe?” Cas laughed, turning away and distracting himself by preparing Meg some tea. Not that he wasn't happy to see her, he always was. But knowing Dean would be showing up at some point and Meg very likely being present for that made his gut clench. “And you tell me my language is outdated,”

“I can say whatever I want however the hell I please. Spill,” Meg insisted with an arched eyebrow that challenged him to try not to.

“I am—working, Meg. That is what I am 'up to',”

“Uh huh,” Meg agreed, shrewdness in her voice that had Cas wincing even with his back turned to her. “That's what—”

But whatever Meg had been about to say was drowned out with the sound of the door opening yet again, and without even turning, Cas knew it would be Dean. He did not whimper, Cas told himself, pasting on as neutral a face as he could before turning back around.

“Hey, Cas,”

Cas' heart fluttered; Dean looked well enough aside from a slight pinkness to his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes, but his voice was rough, cracking in places as though to confirm he really did have a sore throat. He should not, Cas scolded himself, find the change in timbre as appealing as he did.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said, his voice hitching slightly for a number of reasons. He felt Meg's interest besides him as though it was a physical force.

“Introduce me to your friend,” Meg commanded, her eyes now firmly casting over Dean in appraisal. Dean stared back at her a little surprised then slid his gaze over to Cas leaving him swallowing hard.

“Meg, this is Dean Winchester—”

“Oh, _that_ Dean,” Meg breathed out in that exact pitch of teasing that Cas had been expecting. He curled his fingers around the counter for balance and breathed out hard, feeling his cheeks already aflame.

“Dean, this is Meg Masters. My oldest, most troublesome of friends,”

“Drop the oldest,” Meg said idly, still looking Dean up and down consideringly. “Couldn't get Clarence here to tell me too much about you. Must mean you're something _special_ ,”

Dean's eyes widened. “Uh—”

“Meg,” Cas pleaded, mortified.

“Tea, Clarence,” Was Meg's only response, and with a drop of his shoulders, Cas turned back around, preparing tea for both Meg and Dean. He listened as Meg interrogated Dean, and Dean, bless the man, went from cautious to amused in under five minutes. Cas continued keeping himself busy, setting Dean's teapot down with its matching cup on a tray and adding a small bowl of honey along with a spoon so that he could add however much he wanted. He cut a very generous slice of pie, wincing over Meg's questions and hoping they wouldn't send Dean storming out, never to return.

“Are you sitting here or at a table?” Cas interrupted to ask Dean the question.

Dean had barely opened his mouth when Meg replied for him with, “He's sitting here,”

The smile Dean gave them both showed just how thoroughly amused he was, and the little chuckle of laughter that Cas heard as Dean sat down showed he wasn't angry in the slightest; inwardly, Cas sighed with relief.

Meg took one look at the tray Cas slid in front of Dean, ignoring her own tea now in front of her and smirking in a way that was nothing but evil.

“Where's my pie?” she demanded, staring at the slice on Dean's plate before raising her eyes back up to Dean to continue studying him.

“You just took something,” Cas protested, his voice coming out a weak, to his ears pathetic whine. Dean looked between them and laughed all over again, pouring himself some tea.

“ _Special_ ,” Meg repeated, that single word causing Cas' stomach to drop.

Meg and Dean continued to speak but Cas found himself unable to contribute much. The teasing he'd get from Meg later was enough to make him mute, but the thought of Dean being offended, or put off by her constant questioning had Cas tempted to forcibly feed her everything in the counter just to keep her quiet. But Dean looked okay, seemed to be holding his own, even casting his eyes in Cas' direction a couple of times to give him a reassuring smile that had knots adding to his already churning stomach.

“How'd you like poetry, Dean?”

Cas really did whine then, watching Dean's face morph in confusion at Meg's out-of-nowhere question, shaking his head a little and looking to Cas for an explanation.

“Uh—I like some. Can't say I'm too familiar with names, and titles and stuff, but yeah. It's good,”

“Good,” Meg breathed, in that tone that Cas knew was trouble. “Free Sunday night?”

“Meg—” Cas protested, reaching out to wrap a hand around her arm in a futile attempt to stop her; she shrugged him off without breaking eye contact with Dean.

“Uh—sure?”

“Know the bookstore down the street?”

“I do,”

“Be there. Seven o'clock. Don't be late.”

Cas watched as Dean shifted to turn and face him more directly, now looking lost. Cas couldn't help the glare he turned on Meg then, hoping to convey how he'd deal with her later but turning back to Dean and keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

“Once a month there is a—poetry recital. Of both contemporary and traditional poetry. I will be attending,” Cas' stomach performed a complicated knot, and he flinched when Meg flung her hand to the side, hitting him in the chest.

“He'll be performing,” she amended, looking between Cas and Dean with a deliberately lingering glint. Cas forced himself to breathe steadily despite how his heart was racing, and Dean sat up a little straighter, the surprise on his face making Cas want to sink beneath the counter and hide.

“You—write, Cas?”

“Course he writes,” Meg laughed, “has for as long as I've known him. He's _good_ ,”

Cas softened slightly at her compliment but still braced himself for further embarrassment.

Dean's look at him then was full of approval and his smile made Cas' breath catch. “Then I'm definitely coming,”

“Oh, you'll be coming,” Meg drawled, then gave an inappropriate snort that sent blood surging to Cas' cheeks. Dean looked over at her for a second, back to Cas' embarrassed face, then laughed.

“You'd best be on your best behavior, Dean. It's important to make a good first impression with the in-laws,”

“Enough, Meg,” Cas barked out, fighting his instinct to drop his head into his hands and hide.

“Uh—” Dean stuttered, looking to Cas yet again for clarity.

“Gabe'll be there,” Meg smirked, her face utterly full of glee, “Cas' big little brother,”

* * *

There were times in Cas' life when he wished he were more fond of alcohol than he really was. Sure, he enjoyed a couple of beers with Gabe from time to time, sometimes had wine by himself in the evening as he wrote, and Meg's attempts to make him social on occasion involved so many shots that Cas lost count, and resulted in him losing entire days to hangovers. But that didn't mean he was one to intentionally reach for alcohol in times of needing comfort; how he wished that here, on the small stage surrounded by a small crowd looking back up at him in anticipation, with Gabe, Meg and Dean in the very centre of the crowd, he could reach for something that would make him even just a little bit numb.

Gabe and Meg were not so bad, Cas told himself, because they'd seen him do this more than once and were nothing but supportive; they even let up on their almost constant need to mess with him in some kind of teasing ceasefire. And he wasn't embarrassed by his poetry, nor was he a stranger to reading in public since he did that every Tuesday in Tea Tales. But Dean, Dean had only ever heard him reading other people's words; his recital tonight would be purely his own work, and if there was ever a way to feel more naked, more soul-exposed, Cas hadn't come across it yet.

Dean hadn't helped matters by turning up in a shirt that fitted just so, and jeans that hugged him perfectly, and a smile on his face that Cas had already convinced himself was all for him.

That wasn't helping his nerves, not one bit.

Carefully wrapping his fingers around the cup of water in his fingers and willing his hand not to shake Cas took a sip, more for something to do than any thirst. Then he set the cup down on the small table to his side, opened up the notebook in his hand that creaked along the well-worn spine as he did, and cleared his throat, allowing himself one final glance out at his audience before beginning to read.

Cas settled the moment his words started spilling their way from his mouth, a confidence he only felt when speaking like this settling over him like a blanket of calm allowing him to make eye contact with the people watching him from time to time as he emphasised assonance, extended stresses, took the flat words of the page and breathed them new life. Cas felt alive like this, free in a sense he felt in no other aspect of his life, certain in a way that gave him a fleeting feeling of belonging.

The beauty of poetry for Cas was the multiple interpretations, and the way he could hide a hundred hurts in analogies and metaphors. Whatever he said could either be taken at face value or twisted, bent out of shape and heard however the audience wanted to hear it; it didn't for one minute take away its meaning for Cas, and having that shield of revealing himself without revealing himself at all was all the therapy Cas hoped he'd ever need.

From the expressions on their faces, whatever the audience thought his current poem was about was fantastically off track; Cas wove his words of uncertainty and loneliness growing up with parents lacking love and respect for him into a whimsical fairytale of mystic kingdoms and fulfilled wishes. They laughed in the right places, smiled knowingly where he intended them to, and sighed at the end of stanzas that tied up the ends to his tales. All, it seemed, but Dean, who stared back at him tight-lipped with an understanding sadness in his eyes that had Cas fighting back a tremble.

People had understood his exact meanings before, of course they had; the beauty of interpreting poetry was that he could shrug and smile secretly when asked, pretend the words were about something else entirely. The look on Dean's face told Cas he wouldn't get away with that with him; Cas felt a shot of fear that he fought through to keep reading, steadying his voice as though unaffected.

Cas read another three poems, each telling an embellishment of a story or simplifying an experience as though it had meant little, cursing himself for his choice with every one. These poems he had chosen for the recital long before Meg had invited Dean, and he had learned each one by heart already, so it seemed foolish to change them just because Dean would be there to hear; yet each left Cas feeling he was revealing everything about himself he wanted to keep hidden. Cas stopped looking at Dean entirely after the second one; the look of understanding threw and completely unsettling, until it became easier to focus anywhere but on him.

With relief that it was over, Cas saw and felt that his poems were well received by the small audience stood before him; he smiled and gave quiet thanks to the applause, stopped and talked to a few people, purposely taking his time to make his way over to Dean, Gabe, and Meg.

“That was—that was awesome, Cas,” Dean told him with sincerity that shone out brighter than any pity Cas suspected he might be feeling; Cas basked in it though felt himself blush, bracing for the inevitable from Gabe and Meg.

“Good work, little bro,” Gabe said, with a glint in his eye that seemed so out of place when heard with the pride in his voice.

“You'll have all these groupies dropping their panties in no time,” Meg drawled, purposely looking Dean up and down with a smirk, “maybe even this one,”

Cas officially begged the ground to open up and swallow him. He watched Dean for a reaction, biting back a surprised burst of laughter as Dean just shrugged and winked at Meg easily, stage whispering the word _satin_ at her. Or perhaps it was _Satan_ , Cas supposed, thinking how well it suited his best friend in that moment; either way, it succeeded in making Meg's face light up with delight.

"Ready for some aftershow fun?" Gabe asked, slapping a clasp around Cas' shoulder that was hard enough to make him jump. “Or are you planning on your own kinda celebration with—”

“I could take a beer,” Dean shrugged again; Cas couldn't tell if he was oblivious to Gabe's and Meg's attempts at embarrassing him or was purposely being obtuse to show it wasn't getting to him. Either way, he was thankful, nodding immediately in agreement and allowing Gabe to shove him in the direction of the door.

The blast of the cold evening air had Cas shivering into his trenchcoat. He watched discreetly as Dean walked beside him doing the same into his own. Dean glanced over and smiled, chuckling softly as they turned to watch and listen to Gabe and Meg's teasing snipes at each other in front of them as they made their way over to a bar. Inside, Gabe ushered them into a corner insisting on buying drinks; Cas smiled when Dean's knee knocked against his under the table the moment they sat down.

“Seriously, Cas. That was great. Feel like you've been holding out on me,"

A bubble of pride rose in Cas' throat and though hesitant, he pressed back against him. “Thank you,”

“You're really, really good. I'd—maybe you can show me some of your stuff sometime?”

"I'm sure Cassie here'll be happy to show you his stuff anytime, Deano,"

Cas closed his eyes, unable to stop the whimper of despair that escaped his lips. When he opened them again and dragged his knee away from the warmth of Dean's, Gabe was stood over them, instantly winking and sliding a beer in front of him.

“Me and Meg are gonna head out. Leave you boys to it,” Gabe announced, clapping his hands together dramatically and spinning away without another word. Cas looked over in the direction of the door and saw Meg stood there, a devilish grin on her face before she made the lewdest of gestures that had Cas gripping the table for support. Dean turned to follow Cas' gaze, openly laughed at Meg's exaggerated wink, and Cas allowed himself to feel a little relief that Dean really didn't seem at all phased by Gabe and Meg's behavior.

“So,” Cas managed after a few much-needed moments to compose himself. “That—that was my brother,”

Dean chuckled and let out a groan as he tipped his head back for a second. “Yeah—yeah I got that, Cas,”

“He's—uh—”

“Yeah. He _is_ ,” Dean laughed, leaving Cas relieved to see nothing but amusement there on Dean's face.

“I get why you said what you said to Sammy now.” Cas must have looked confused for a moment because Dean waved his hand in a half-dismissive gesture. “You know. About how if they ever meet on a case—”

“Oh,” Cas said, nodding in understanding. Dean's warm smile had Cas holding his breath for a second, and he drummed his fingers along the edge of the bottle for fear of what his idle hands might do otherwise.

“So,” Dean said after taking a long gulp of beer; now Cas breath was catching, because the tone of Dean's voice meant questions. Cas wasn't sure he was ready for questions at all.

“So,” he echoed, hoping he'd get through whatever Dean had to say without making a fool of himself.

“Your, uh—your poems. They—they're really something, you know?”

Cas gave a tight smile, unsure of how else to respond.

“You're really good, Cas. How come you've never told me about writing before now?"

The corner table they were sat at felt suddenly too cramped, too closed in, and Cas' eyes darted involuntarily to the exit. "I suppose it is because—we have not known each other very long, Dean,” Cas tried, a thousand other words clawing for escape but none of the right ones finding their way out. Dean nodded as though in thought, taking another pull of his beer.

Cas felt his stomach drop as he watched him, and a hundred repeated taunts about his lack of social skills, his inability to communicate came to assault him where he sat. The earlier pride he'd felt for the recital evaporated leaving Cas with being only this: an awkward man who could never hold a decent conversation or anyone's interest beyond fleeting.

“Like I said before. I'd—I'd like to know you better,”

Cas' eyes turned rapidly at the soft shyness in Dean's voice, not trusting to believe what he was hearing. Dean's smile was hopeful, there was a blush to his cheeks that Cas couldn't help but find adorable, and his general body language was nothing but open, as though his every word matched his every gesture. Neither could Cas help leaning into it a little, wanting to be closer to him. “What would you like to know?” Cas stumbled out, silently cursing the break in his voice.

“I can ask you questions?”

“You may ask me questions,”

Dean smirked and gave a short nod, as though stalling for thinking time. “Meg said you wrote. That you've done it for a while. You, uh—you still write now, yeah?” Dean asked to confirm it, his fingers drumming against the glass of his bottle in a clear show of nerves. Cas smiled to see it, allowed it to help him realize he wasn't the only one feeling awkward here and shifted back in his seat.

“I do. I write poetry, the occasional short story. I write some articles for an online publication, I have a book that has been in progress since before I met Meg—”

Dean smiled, shaking his head, and Cas could tell he was trying to work out how the odd pair that was he and Meg could ever be friends, smiling when Dean's question confirmed what he was thinking. “We attended the same classes in college. Meg is—you have met Meg; there is no further explanation required. On our first day, she sat beside me in a lecture theater, mocked my clothes, stole a pen. We have been friends ever since,”

Dean's smile widened at the obvious affection in Cas' tone, and Cas was glad to see it. Meg truly had been a pivotal part of his life for so long, and he honestly didn't know what he would do without her. Even if she was the embodiment of wickedness sometimes; Cas didn't think he'd have Meg any other way. “I know Meg can be—”

“...I honestly don't think I can come up with a description of her,” Dean laughed, making Cas grin all over again.

“She is the most loyal, trustworthy person I have ever met. She is supportive, will always tell me what she is thinking even if she knows I do not want to hear it. She is difficult at times, but she is—she is a wonderful friend. Not that I would tell her that,” Cas added with a rueful laugh, thinking of the punch and eye roll he'd receive for doing such a thing.

“It's good you have her,” Dean said with that softness again that had Cas want to wrap himself up in.

“It is,”

“I, uh,” and Cas watched Dean shift and a deep frown pull his face down. "I'm starting over here, really. Making a couple of friends. It's—it's not easy,” Cas fought hard against the urge to reach out and wrap a hand around Dean's arm at hearing the sadness in his voice, instead giving a small nod that urged him to continue.

“And—and back home, I, uh—I didn't really have that much time for friends,”

“I imagine that the fire service is somewhat demanding of your time. Your schedule was quite challenging?” Cas guessed, wincing at the darkness that crossed Dean's face then.

“It was,” Dean nodded carefully, looking Cas over as though deciding what exactly to tell him. “I, uh—my dad was—”

Dean's words trailed away, and as desperate as Cas was to hear them he sat patiently, taking in the sudden defensive stance of his shoulders, waiting for him to speak.

“You know. I used to—I used to tell people he was sick. I mean he was in a way,” Dean said, as though he was now talking to himself. Cas' interest was well and truly piqued but he kept perfectly still, hoping it would encourage Dean to continue.

"He—he liked to drink. He drank, a lot. Got to a point when it was all the time, didn't ever want to stop. So he really was sick, you know? But—yeah—he liked to drink. I did what I could to take care of him. Kind of... kind of became the only thing I had time for outside of work,”

Cas' fingers twitched with the need to reach out and comfort Dean then, and he settled for shifting his chair a little closer and staring back at him patiently.

“He—he needed taking care of,” Dean repeated, and to Cas it sounded as though he was reassuring himself of that, leaving Cas to wonder how many times he'd felt the need to defend himself for it.

“When you say, _needed_... I take it that he is no longer —that—”

“He's dead,” Dean's tone was cold, and wooden, and made Cas want to reach for him all over again.

“I am very sorry, Dean,”

For a moment, Dean did nothing but scowl down at the bottle in his hand.

“May I ask—how?” Cas cursed under his breath for the words that slipped out unchecked, and braced for anger. He watched as Dean visibly seemed to grow smaller, tucking into himself, trying to disappear.

"The drink," Dean said eventually, so quietly Cas found himself leaning in even closer to hear him.

“I am—very sorry, Dean,” Cas said, helpless for anything else to say.

“Yeah, well. Happens,”

Silence hit them then, with Cas desperate to be able to make simple conversation that would take away the look of sadness on Dean's face.

“My, uh—my mom,” Dean said out of nowhere; Cas gripped the edge of the table again and sat perfectly still, as though he could feel the importance of whatever Dean was about to say.

“My mom died when I was four. House fire. I remember grabbing Sammy from his cot and carrying him outside, standing on the sidewalk watching our house light up like some out of control campfire. My—my dad tried to go back in, got so far before he got beat back by the flames. He—he inhaled a lot of smoke, you know? And—I guess—I guess he never really—I mean I guess he lost everything that ever mattered to him in that fire. As kids we spent _years_ travelling around while he... while he tried to deal with it, you know? 's why the Impala's kinda like a second home for me,”

“He had you. He had Sam,” Cas pointed out feeling he had to, watching the bittersweet twist of Dean's mouth and wishing he could take back his words.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, almost under his breath, and Cas watched him in silence for a few moments.

“So—is—the reason you became a firefighter is-”

“'Cos I couldn't save my mom,” Dean finished for him, smiling self-critically, “messed up, I know, but—”

“That is not messed up at all,” Cas contradicted, adamantly shaking his head, “if anything, it is noble,” That made Dean laugh, and though it was good to see Dean laughing, Cas knew it wasn't good that he seemed to be laughing at himself.

“Can't say I've done much in life that's noble, Cas,”

“I will disagree,” Cas told him, shaking his head and wishing he could find the right words to say. “You took care of your father, and I assume that you also helped to raise your brother when you were both very young. You saved lives, every day, as a firefighter, and it would appear you almost gave your life in doing so. You are noble, Dean, whether you feel that you are or not,”

Dean gave a snort of laughter that was part self-deprecating and part-embarrassed; Cas didn't know what to do with that, because when he looked at Dean, all he saw was good.

“How'd we get to speaking about me all of a sudden, anyway, Cas?” Dean said then, shifting the subject verbally as well as with a physical jerk of his entire body.

Cas forced back the impatient sigh that threatened to make an appearance, instead offering a small smile. “I studied English literature. I am, in Meg's words, socially retarded. I am a disappointment to my family, I am—terrible at making decisions," Cas reeled off, blurting out what felt like a highlights list of his own faults as though to compensate for Dean's own confession.

Dean snorted, shaking his head. “Let's back that up a little, huh, Cas?” leaving Cas to squint at him, confused.

“I mean,” Dean said, leaning forward and smiling so beautifully at Cas that his breath caught all over again, “the English literature thing, fine, acceptable, and don't think I don't have a ton of questions about that for some other time, 'cos I—if I'dve ever thought about getting myself to college that's what I would've chosen. But _socially retarded_? _Disappointment to my family_?”

Again Cas longed for an exit, because he didn't want to show Dean just how inept he really was. “I am—not good with people, Dean,”

“You're great with your customers,” Dean argued, and okay, Cas thought to himself, perhaps that wasn't too much of a kind exaggeration.

“And—I think you're—you're kinda awesome, Cas,” Dean stuttered out, his cheeks now a shade that Cas could practically feel the heat from.

"Thank you,”

"As for the disappointment to your family; don't buy it for a second," Dean added in a tone that was nothing but dismissive.

“My parents would disagree with that sentiment,” Cas replied, wondering at the smallness of his own voice as he spoke.

“Then, no offence, but—your parents are idiots,”

Cas couldn't hold back the snort of laughter that came out at Dean's words, or the smile he gave him in return. “Thank you,”

“I mean it,” Dean insisted, leaning further forward still, his eyes flitting over Cas' face, making him tremble, “what's there to be disappointed about, huh?”

Under the scrutiny of Dean's gaze, Cas pushed back a little from the table and stretched. “Uh—where do I begin? My inability to make a decision and stick to it—which I have already mentioned. Not doing something productive with my education—and by productive, that means following my father into his law practice-”

“But you said you studied English Lit. Did you study law as well?” Dean interrupted, shaking his head as though thinking he had missed something.

“No,”

“Then how—”

“That is yet another of my methods of disappointing my parents,” Cas smiled, remembering what felt like a thousand arguments prior to his going to college because of his choice of subjects.

“Can't force yourself to like something you don't like, Cas,” Dean protested; the warmth Cas felt for Dean blossomed a little more, and he felt himself leaning forward in perfect mirror to Dean. Bracing then, because out of nowhere came the realization that he hadn't even considered what Dean's own orientation might be, having just seen an attractive man and _wanted_ him. Cas felt sick; but took a breath to clear the feeling and forced his words out.

“Did I mention my blatant refusal to be heterosexual and provide the family with grandchildren?”

Dean let out a groan and shook his head in sympathy. “No, you didn't,”

“It is one of my greater crimes,” Cas told him, relieved to see that Dean hadn't even flinched at his confession. “My father, and my mother in particular has always believed that I have chosen to be gay in an effort to spite them. I cannot—I do not wish to recall the number of times I arrived home to find a _nice young woman_ invited for dinner that my parents wanted me to, uh, get to know,”

Dean let out another groan; Cas smirked at him for the solidarity.

“My dad beat me black and blue when he found me making out with a guy from school,”

The air between them instantly crackled with tension and Dean's eyes blew wide, as though he himself was surprised by his own admission. Cas held his breath, leaned forward a touch closer as

Dean slumped, shaking his head with a rueful chuckle. "I don't think I've ever said that out loud, to anyone before,”

“I—”

“I told Sam it was just—you know. Dad being drunk again. He was kinda used to seeing me, uh—seeing me like that back then, uh...”

Instantly Cas' mind was filled with cruel images of a young Dean being beaten, Dean's words forming an ugly picture of his childhood, and it didn't take much more than the haunted look on Dean's face to confirm Cas' suspicion.

"I apologize, Dean,”

“What you got to apologize for? Was my dad who had the problem with me being bisexual, no one else,” Dean laughed drily, shaking his head again and nudging against his arm. “It's—fine, Cas. Long time ago now. And we're doing it again. How come we're back to talking about me? I mean...”

Cas watched then as Dean's words trailed away to nothing, his eyes staring back at him as though searching for something before shaking his head, clearly confused.

“I don't get it, Cas,”

One long, thick thud of his heart had Cas fearing whatever Dean was thinking. “You don't get what, Dean?”

“This. _You_. You, uh, you any idea how many —how—I've—I've never spoken to anyone about this stuff like—like _this_. But with you it's just... it's easy,” The still-confused smile Dean gave Cas then felt like a reward, and Cas smiled back attempting to inject all of the warmth and affection he could into it.

“Anyway,” Dean said, clearing his throat after a few seconds of them staring at each other. “Your turn,”

Cas' heart beat up a protest; how could he change the subject now, after such a confession? How could Cas summon up his own minor complaints about his own life when in comparison to Dean's he'd had a fairytale of a childhood? Suddenly the thought of sharing his deepest, darkest fears was altogether less terrifying.

“My parents argued, and fought, and threw things,” Cas began, keeping his eyes firmly on the table and away from Dean. “There was this—old fireplace in my bedroom that had been bricked up even before we had the house. When they started fighting I would—I would crawl into the space there and cover my ears, try to drown out the noise. Sometimes Gabriel would join me, tell me terrible jokes or sing ridiculous songs in an attempt to distract me,”

“Yeah, I can relate a little to that,” Dean agreed with a sigh, and Cas' heart broke all over again at the measures Dean must have had to go to looking out for Sam.

"I cannot blame my parents for all of my problems, however, I grew up very shy, incapable of interacting well with other children. I was bullied for much of my childhood; nothing very severe, but bullying all the same. My parents were... less than affectionate. As from my grandmother, I did not truly know what affection—friendship—was, until college,”

“Meg?” Dean asked, smiling gently and leaving Cas have what felt like a constant internal battle not to lean over and kiss him like he'd wanted to do since the moment they'd sat down.

“Meg,” Cas confirmed, “with Meg as my... I suppose as my voice, the one who helped when I made a small circle of friends, encouraged me to have more confidence. She was the first person I shared any of my writing with,”

“She's been a good friend to you,” Dean summarised, smiling yet again.

“She has,”

“That—that why you wrote—why you wrote some of that stuff? What you just said about—about growing up?” Dean asked then, carefully turning his eyes away as though he knew Cas wouldn't want to be looked at. Cas thought about doing his usual spiel of denial, of changing the subject again, of doing anything but telling the truth. But looking Dean over he found he couldn't; how could he lie about something so important when Dean had literally just laid his past out for him like that?

“Yes,” was all he said, but to Cas it felt like he'd spoken volumes.

Dean nodded, a quick bite to his lower lip that he immediately dropped, but Cas had to force himself not to keep looking at. “Did—uh—does it help? Getting it all down like that?”

“At times, yes,”

Another wall of silence grew between them but for some reason this one didn't feel overwhelming or in any way negative. Instead, it felt like the beginnings of trust, what Cas tentatively told himself seemed the true start of something opening up between them.

“We're kinda a mess, Cas,” Dean laughed eventually, fixing Cas with a smile that caught in Cas' throat.

“Yes, Dean. I suppose that we are,”

* * *

 

  
  
  
  



	6. Hard conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

“We don't ever talk about it,”

Dean followed the noise of the beer bottle clattering noisily in front of him on the table to its source as Sam slid down in the seat opposite. The uncomfortable look on Sam's face suggested Dean brace for a difficult conversation; if he were the one to start up a talk it was just about manageable because he'd be the one to lead it, having spent hours planning it in advance to try and imagine every possible outcome. But when forced into a corner by anyone else over the slightest unpleasant situation, it made Dean's throat tighten and his breathing difficult, and the urge to be anywhere but where he was currently hit him square in the chest.

“Which it we talking here, Sam?” Dean said, attempting to sound disinterested, because in fairness there were about a million things they never spoke about unless it was absolutely crucial. Sam grimaced but that didn't do anything to reveal to Dean what he was thinking. Instead he took a long pull of his beer, clenched his free hand tightly in a fist against his lap, and waited for Sam to get the words out.

“Any of it. All of it, I guess,” Sam tried; it was rare for Dean to see Sam struggling with what he was thinking and it did nothing but put him even further on edge, ready to defend himself.

“Gonna have to be a bit more specific,”

Dean watched Sam's knuckles as he curled his hands around the edge of the table and pushed against it, breathing out in a sharp blast. His heart pounded uncomfortably; how much of his nightmare had managed to spill out into formed words? How much had Sam heard earlier that morning when he'd desperately shaken Dean awake? How much—

“Did. Uh—did you ever forgive me?”

The bottle slipped from Dean's fingers to clunk against the table in his surprise at Sam's blurted out words, and his eyes blew wide, as though they needed to be bigger to even attempt to comprehend Sam's words.

“For what?”

A thick frown furrowed on Sam's face and his eyes dropped to where he was worrying the label from his bottle. Dean continued to watch as Sam made an attempt at speaking three times, before he blasted out a rapid, “For leaving? For- letting you deal with Dad on your own when I went off to college? For—all of—all of that?”

An assault of memories started up for Dean, whirling around him so quickly he felt he was in the eye of a tornado. Driving Sam to college, helping him move his stuff in, driving away from the campus with his gut sinking and his heart breaking at being away from Sam properly for the first time in his life. Of the growing feeling of dread that just grew heavier the closer he got to home, of how his heart gave a violent thud when he walked through the door to find the place all but trashed.

John had been passed out on the couch surrounded by empty bottles and half-eaten pizza, and a pool of vomit on the floor by his side had Dean gagging and stamping across the room to force the windows open and some air in. Plates were smashed, glasses broken, papers ripped up in a snowstorm. The worst thing was that none of this was new to Dean, nothing he hadn't seen before a hundred times in about a hundred different ways.

What he wasn't prepared for was the sheer state of Sam's room; John had clearly gone at it with some force, with not one single piece of furniture remaining intact. Dean's heart thudded again as he stepped through the doorway to find the few books Sam had left behind ripped, wrinkled and in a charred heap; John must have tried to start a fire that Dean could be nothing but grateful for not coming to anything.

Dean carefully and quietly tidied all he could away, desperately missing his brother and wondering if he could get away with a night at Bobby and Ellen's, to give himself just a little more time to adjust. But one look at his dad and guilt hit him hard; how could he even be thinking about leaving him like this when he was such a wreck? What if he hurt himself?

John stirred with the final full trash bag cluttering the remains of his bottles together; a hard grip around Dean's leg as he passed pulled him to an awkward and painful stop. “Only son I got,” John slurred out, squeezing too hard, and Dean biting back a protest knowing what trouble it would give him. “ Not much a one; least you know how to keep house. Make a good little wife someday,” and then John roughly shoved him away making Dean stumble, bite back a thousand retorts and wish hard and furiously for another life that was never going to be his reality.

In the present, Dean chased the memory away with a firm shake of his head, giving Sam a thin smile. “Nothing to forgive. Think I put up with all that shit just to see you throw your dreams away and stick around in a dead end town and amount to nothing? No way,”

“But Dean—”

“Your conscience is clear, Sammy. Got nothing to forgive you for, 'cos you didn't do anything wrong. Fact is, I'd go through it—all of it again, over and over if I needed to,” And that was true. Dean would do anything, literally anything for Sam. He'd grown up fiercely protective of him and that wouldn't ever change, and, Dean thought proudly, Sam did his best to be just as protective of Dean himself. Dean could see that in the guilt in his eyes, and wished there were words he could say to take that look away from him.

“You should never have had to,”

“It's how it is. Not gonna ever regret looking out for my baby brother,” Dean smiled, attempting to make it look easy, taking a purposely long look over him to point out their height difference in an attempt to force a smile out of Sam as well. It worked, briefly, and then Sam was frowning all over again.

“You always looked out for me. You—you shouldn't have had to act as my shield, Dean,"

Dean gripped hard around the bottle and swallowed hard, another barrage of memories bombarding him until he had to close his eyes to them, which only made them more vivid. Standing deliberately in Sam's way to block John's path to him in a drunken rage, taking the brunt of the beating intended for Sam and earning extra for himself for getting in his way. Curling himself around Sam as he screamed in fear, with John hurling whatever he could grab to hand at them as Dean slung the ever-ready holdall over his shoulder and felt blood trickling down his back from broken glass as they stumbled out of their door to head over to Bobby's. The fear that sat icy in his stomach on hearing John announcing his drunken presence home after a session, begging Sam to have remembered to block his bedroom door and hoping, praying that John would be too drunk to feel the need to find himself a punchbag to take his anger out on that night.

But none of that, not one scrap of it had ever been Sam's fault.

“Sam,” Dean said, but there were no actual words he could think of that he really wanted to say to him. Silence filled the space between them for a few minutes, both trying and failing to be the one to say what the other needed to hear. Sentences were started and then abandoned, and the only real sound to be heard was the continual lifting of bottles to lips and the subsequent clink of them being lowered to the table again.

“You know. It—it used to infuriate me how you'd defend him all the time,” Sam said eventually, with a surprised expression on his face that Dean took to mean Sam wasn't expecting he'd be able to get those very words out. Dean found he still could say nothing and just watched him back, waiting to see if there was anything else for him to say.

“And I'd—every time I'd see you with a new bruise, or holding yourself a certain way 'cos he'd hit you or something, I- I just- braced for whatever excuse you'd come up with for it. For why it was okay,”

Dean closed his eyes, suddenly hit by a wave of tiredness that he didn't feel like waking up from. “Yeah, well I don't defend him now, do I?”

“Only 'cos he's not around anymore to defend,” Sam bit back, and Dean winced, unconsciously hunching in on himself.

“What's done is done, okay? We're—we turned out okay,”

Sam gave a bitter laugh and drained his bottle, scraping his chair back and glowering. “If we turned out anywhere near okay it's because of you, Dean. You raised me. You're the reason I—I wouldn't even have this life if it weren't for you. And I—I don't think you'll ever really know how grateful I am for that. I don't think you can know,”

Dean's throat felt thick and his eyes pricked a little but he would not give into it, he would not show those emotions to Sam like this, not if he could fight it. "Think you've more than repaid the favor by letting me stay here," is all Dean could come up with, earning himself a frustrated snort from Sam and the reminder yet again of just how very lost he'd be without his brother.

After the fire, when Dean had first woken up in the hospital in such excruciating pain that it felt impossible to be alive, Sam's was the first face his eyes had fallen on when the fog of medication had cleared enough for him to notice anyone was there with him. And from dropping everything and taking the first flight back to Lawrence the moment Bobby had called to say Dean was in the hospital and falling asleep beside his bed there, to helping him pack up his things and getting the ball rolling on the house sale without asking a single question or making even one complaint, Sam had been his lifeline.

Even when Sam's insistence that Dean come to live with him had been met by the hurdle of Dean being too shaken, too weak, and in too much pain to be able to drive, and absolutely no way in hell willing to fly there; Sam had simply loaded up the Impala with Dean's few belongings then climbed behind the steering wheel himself. That car ride, hours added to it by the repeated need to keep pulling over when Dean had gotten sick, or just too overwhelmed to deal with it, could have been the thing that most tested Sam's patience. But he'd just smiled easily, shoved in tape after tape of Zeppelin to keep Dean appeased and gently forced medication and food on him that Dean had no interest at the time in remembering to do himself. Hell, Sam had even helped get him out of the car when they'd finally parked up in his driveway. Dean had been so seized up with pain and stiffness and unable to move from that last leg of the journey that it was impossible for him to climb out unaided.

“If you honestly think I'd want—I'd let you be anywhere else than here after—after everything...” Sam's words trailed away from him as though they both knew the sentence didn't need finishing.

Another wall of memories blasted at Dean, of smoke, and heat, and fear, and he shut them down before they could take hold, roughly finishing his drink and scraping his chair back to stand.

“Another?” Dean said, already heading for the fridge, opening both bottles before sliding one over to Sam. Sam reached out for the bottle and sighed as though he was biting back a comment Dean wouldn't want to hear.

"I'm—I'm doing okay, Sam," Dean said, keeping his voice purposely low to disguise the tremble there. Because he both was and wasn't doing okay. Sometimes everything was good, great even, and in acknowledging that his mind instantly flew to Charlie's shop and Cas' cafe leaving a gentle warmth settling in his stomach. But sometimes he felt as though he was at the bottom of a well with no way to climb back out, seeing daylight far up and out of reach as the slickened walls closed in around him and the air filled with smoke. Dean took a long pull of his beer, angrily cursing at himself under his breath as he forced that image away along with all the others.

“Dean—”

The gentleness of Sam's voice made Dean want to vomit, and he braced himself for whatever Sam was about to say as best as he could. “You were—you were crying out for him to stop. You were—I—I didn't know what to do, Dean. Normally your nightmares are about the fire, and I just—I didn't know what to do,”

The anguish on Sam's face had Dean riding a wave of guilt coursing through his gut, and a hundred thoughts rushed through his mind at once. That he should leave, that Sam shouldn't have to wake him from his nightmares and feel as though he needed to help him constantly. His nightmares had, he knew, likely been triggered by his conversation with Cas last night, and it was in no way Cas' fault either, Dean chided himself in case even a tendril of that thought process attempted to sneak in. This was his mess, and he would deal with it, in his own way, in his own time.

“I know you don't wanna—I know you hate the idea of counseling, but—”

“Not gonna happen,” the snap down of Dean's barriers crashing down with the bite of his words, his jaw clenching tightly until his teeth were grinding.

“But you can still talk about it. Anything. With me. You know that, right?” Sam finished; the softness in his expression making Dean want to curl up into a ball.

“I know,”

"I just—I can't stand the thought of you going over and over all of this in your own head and—and not—I don't want you to feel like you've gotta keep taking care of everyone else. I—maybe it's time for you to take care of yourself a little?”

“I am,” Dean defended, and he was. He was taking his pain medication, applying all of the treatments he needed for his skin to recover, going to see the doctor monitoring his recovery every other week. He was even trying to sleep though it was torture, even though sometimes just closing his eyes would bring on the nightmares no matter what time of day it was. But he was trying, most of the time anyway, and that, he told himself firmly, was all he was capable of. All anyone could ask of him. And since his world had grown so small. Since there were so few people who were actually asking—

“I—I talked to Cas a little about stuff last night,” Dean admitted to cut off that train of thought, and surprising himself with his choice of words, sinking and shifting uncomfortably under the exposure of Sam's sudden look of interest.

“You did,” Sam's tone made those two words feel like a thousand questions; Dean pressed his lips together in a hard line and fought hard against the urge to turn and flee.

“Yeah. We, uh—he did this poetry recital, you know? I mean,” Dean shifted, looking back defensively all over again, “not really my thing, but-”

But Sam cut him off with an amused snort, denying him. “'Not your thing?' Dean. Only time you ever actually completed any assignment on time in high school was when it was poetry, or literature, or something. Swear you hard a hard-on for that Raven poet—”

“Edgar Allen Poe,” Dean retorted without thinking, sitting up a little straighter in indignance at Sam's twitch of a smile, and clearing his throat. “Anyway. I was talking 'bout Cas. He's... unbelievably good. And, uh—afterwards, we ended up having a beer. Got to talking... about all kindsa stuff,"

Sam's face twitched again; Dean recognized the look as one of Sam desperate to say something teasing but fighting hard against it. “That's—that's great, Dean,”

Dean didn't trust himself to make anything other than a non-committal shrug, and took another drink of his beer. There was silence for a while, both of them avoiding eye contact, that silence swelling to the point of being near tangible and almost uncomfortable.

“Promise me,” Sam said suddenly, staring at Dean intently and making him feel as though the walls were closing in around him all over again.

“What?”

“Promise me. Promise me if—if it gets too much—promise me you'll tell me. That—that we'll do something about this. Together,”

For a moment Dean considered laughing it off, changing the subject, doing anything but listen to what Sam was trying to tell him without saying the actual words. But Sam wasn't blind, had already seen far too much; he was the one who Dean woke to worriedly looking down at him in the middle of the night when the nightmares were too overwhelming. He was the one that wordlessly passed him a glass of water when Dean had shakily made his way to the kitchen after throwing up for no other reason than out of nowhere panic. He was the one, Dean tried and failed to forget, who had silently slid his fingers over Dean's in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture when Dean had all but broken down at the dinner table, quietly leading him away from Jess' sympathetic looks and carefully clutching hold of him as Dean had dejectedly tipped his head forward to press against Sam's shoulder, wicking the shoulder of his shirt with his tears.

Dean couldn't pretend to Sam, not even if he wanted to. And even trying to distract Sam from the subject by bringing up the subject of Cas couldn't throw him off of it. Defeat had his shoulders dropping and left Dean unable to do much else but let out a small, tired sigh.

“I—I can promise I'll try and tell you,”

Sam frowned a little harder at Dean's compromise but then sighed, showing his reluctant acceptance of it. “Please do,”

More silence hit them, with Dean frantically searching for something to say that might ease the mood, to lighten it a little. Partly because he couldn't take it, couldn't deal with it all right now. And partly because he hated seeing the concern on Sam's face, knowing he was the one putting it there.

“Got something to show you,” Dean said suddenly, dragging himself to his feet and disappearing, only to return a few moments later with a couple of sketchbooks. Dean sat back down, containing the grimace that would show how the sudden movement shot a lancing pain through him, and slid them silently across the table to Sam, biting down on his lip as he waited for him to look.

“What's this?” Sam half-mumbled, his eyes growing wide and a smile lighting up his face as he started to turn the pages. “You're drawing again?”

Dean nodded and kept watching Sam as he turned the pages of Dean's sketchpad, his fingers tracing along the outline of some and his eyes lingering over others with a proud smile firmly in place the entire time.

"You've got even better," Sam told him softly; Dean felt a rush of blush to his cheeks but said nothing.

With Sam half-distracted it was a little easier to speak. Dean cleared his throat, toying with his beer bottle for a moment then mumbling, “I tried going in to the fire station again,”

Sam paused between pages, slowly dragging his eyes away and up to Dean's face, looking back at him carefully. “How was it?”

Dean allowed the impatience and anger at himself out in a blasted sigh, feeling it rage right through him. “Still stupid. Still can't go in,”

“Not stupid. Completely understandable,” Sam corrected, then forced himself to keep looking at Dean's sketches as if knowing him looking elsewhere would encourage Dean to speak.

“I feel stupid. It's—it's all I've ever known, you know? All I ever wanted to do—'sides from drawing, but that's not exactly something I can do for a living,”

“You could,” Sam objected, glancing up briefly then quickly looking away again, “you're more than good enough. You could probably go to college, or night classes, or—”

“Too old for all that,” Dean dismissed with a wave of his hand, but silently reminded himself of the flyer he'd seen pinned up in the bookstore yesterday for night classes that he'd half-considered attending.

“No, you're not. Never too old to do something you love doing, Dean. Even if it's just for fun—you should think about it,”

Dean made another non-committal sound, unconsciously drumming his fingers on the table. “Maybe. Anyway. Point is, how'm I ever gonna go back to work if I can't even get myself through the door of the damn building, huh?"

This time Sam gently closed the book and pushed it away just out of his reach. “Maybe you need more time. It's only really been a few months since the—”

“And the longer I leave it the harder it gets,” Dean interrupted with a forceful shake his head.

“Is it still what you wanna do? That's—that's kinda important to think about in this,” Sam asked, staring at Dean in a way that reminded him of how much faith Sam seemed to put in him, like he thought he could do anything. It was a heavy burden to have to live with sometimes, Dean realized then, withdrawing a little into himself.

Dean thought about the question and shrugged, since that was the easiest response he could give. “It's all I know,”

“It isn't. And that isn't an answer, either, you know,"

“It's all I know,” Dean repeated, shaking his head again.

Sam continued staring at Dean, and Dean's heart began to race, recognizing Sam's expression. His fingers gripped tightly against his thighs, frozen to the spot yet so desperate to get away from the words he didn't want to have to confront, not yet.

“Do—tell me you don't blame yourself, Dean,” Sam's voice was heartbroken, as though he couldn't bear the thought of even saying the words. Dean, of course, couldn't answer, not honestly, and instead shakily raised a hand to snag around the bottle, taking another long drink that did nothing to settle him.

“Dean,”

"If I'd been quicker, done something—anything different, maybe I coulda—"

“Dean, you pulled two people out alive, on your own. You saved their lives, Dean, and you went back into that burning, collapsing building and almost got yourself killed—“

"It's what we do, Sam. Kinda the whole point of—”

“Dean,” Sam cut him off with that same broken tone, and Dean curled in on himself, shielding against the fear in Sam's voice, “Dean—you did all you could. You nearly—you nearly didn't make it out yourself. I—I nearly lost you,”

“Stop being such a drama queen. Still here, Sammy,” Dean offered with a small smile that didn't stand a chance at reaching his eyes. Because some days he really was here, but on others he was back in that building with the ceiling caving in, the flames licking over and stripping him of his skin as he tried to—

“Dean. Please, please don't do this. Don't blame yourself for—”

“You think I wanna feel like this?” Dean barked back, sudden irrational anger boiling through him. “You think I wanna be this mess that can't even—can't even get a night's sleep 'cos of... 'cos of nightmares? You think I—”

“I think you're too hard on yourself. I think you're the bravest, most courageous person I know, and that you've spent your whole life looking out for others. For people you should never've had to look out for. That's what I think,”

Dean's breathing grew painfully laboured at Sam's words, the telltale tendrils of panic beginning to leach through him until the edge of his vision started to blur and his chest ached as though it was being stood on. “Someone had to,” Dean managed to retort, forcing himself to breathe slower and think of something, anything else to distract himself.

"You shouldn't have had to," Sam repeated, looking so thoroughly sorry for him that Dean felt sick, and even more broken.

“Can't do this, Sammy. Can't—I'm dealing with it, okay? Just—I can't, not right now,”

“I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to push, I just—"

“I know,” Dean nodded, offering another tight smile. Because of course Sam meant well, of course Sam wanted to help. But if Sam could see how charred and burnt and broken he was on the inside sometimes, how already empty he already was. Maybe he'd see there was nothing left to rescue. Maybe he'd finally give up.

No, Dean told himself firmly, biting back the urge to break down, to let out all of the rage, anger and hurt that churned in him, holding it all back because he had to deal with it alone. That was his job, to keep it to himself. It always had been.

“Can I—do you need anything? Can I do anything?” Sam asked, looking on helplessly as Dean collected up their empty bottles and made himself busy with his hands.

“Nope. I'm good. Gonna, uh—man I'm beat. Gonna try and sleep a bit,”

Dean left the room before Sam could comment, lowering himself gingerly to the bed and staring up at the ceiling with the sun streaming in through the windows, knowing sleep wouldn't come to claim him any time soon.

* * *

Perhaps it was inevitable, but the moment Dean woke from his restless sleep later that afternoon, his first thought was of Cas.

Their evening together had stirred up a mix of emotions both good and bad for Dean, leaving him wanting more of it—more of Cas. Though Dean had argued with himself, fought against what he was feeling for Cas, there seemed no actual way to shut it off, concluding that there were so many awful things constantly on his mind currently that he didn't have the energy to fight his growing attraction for Cas as well. Not that he was going to actually try and do anything with it; Cas didn't deserve to have to deal with his messes, he was far too good for that.

But Cas, it seemed, didn't view Dean as having any messes. When the urge to see Cas had gotten too much for Dean to ignore he'd gone to him; Cas' face had broken into a beautiful smile the second Dean had walked through the door of Tea Tales, ushering him forward to sit at the counter as he cast his eyes over Dean for a second then spun on his heel, making a pot of tea that Dean shook his head ruefully at because it actually tasted good.

Cas watched with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as Dean tucked into a new kind of pie filling he was experimenting with, waiting for his reaction. The flavors burst on Dean's tongue and he couldn't hold back the pleased little moan he gave; he almost choked at the way Cas' eyes widened in reaction and had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could say anything or eat any more.

“So good, Cas, you gotta make more of this,” Dean assured him, delving in and resting a hand on his stomach as it growled, probably protesting that this was his first meal of the day.

“Are you sure?” Cas asked, looking adorably uncertain. Dean grinned unchecked, scooped up another forkful and moaned out his appreciation a little louder this time so that Cas couldn't help but get the picture.

“So good,” Dean repeated anyway, and Cas gave a pleased hum, reaching out and taking up a forkful himself.

“How was your morning?” Cas asked as they finished off the slice between them. Dean shrugged, regretting it immediately because of the tightness across his shoulders. Cas' eyes flew instantly to the jerked movement and narrowed, raising for another moment to look over Dean's face. Dean heard a soft sigh, then Cas was spinning away again, and Dean watched as he pulled together the ingredients for a sandwich Dean knew was destined for him.

“It was—I slept a bit. Didn't have an easy night of it,” Dean admitted, scraping up the very last crumbs on the plate as he waited for Cas to turn back around.

“I am sorry that you are still having difficulty sleeping,” Cas said, his tone mournful and filling Dean with unnecessary guilt.

“It's not always bad,”

“It is bad enough,” Cas argued, turning around and pushing a plate in front of Dean, tilting his chin at it and silently telling him to eat.

“You taking care of me, Cas?” Dean smiled, picking up the sandwich and taking a bite, closing his eyes in surprised relief. It was amazing how quickly his appetite switched on and off, and he hadn't eaten anything in probably eighteen hours now that he came to think about it—no wonder he felt as though his stomach was eating itself.

Cas grew very, very still, and for a second Dean thought something had happened whilst he'd been distracted with his sandwich. “I—apologise, Dean, I did not mean to—”

“Hey,” Dean interrupted immediately, shaking his head, surprised by Cas' sudden change of behavior, “I appreciate it. Honestly. This is great, thank you,”

“I do not wish to presume—”

“Presume all you want, Cas,” Dean said, waving away Cas' concern and feeling a rush of affection for Cas that had him wanting to grin from ear to ear.

“I really enjoyed the other night, Cas,” Dean said after a moment when Cas looked as though he was stuck for something to say. Cas gave him a cautious smile back, and nodded.

“As did I. Thank you for coming to watch,”

Dean grinned, taking another bite of the sandwich and giving yet another satisfied sigh. “It was good to see you outside of this place. Not that I don't like it here, I just—it was nice to see you somewhere else,” and if Dean didn't know better he would swear that Cas was actually blushing.

They passed another half an hour or so in easy conversation, and Dean felt comfortable with Cas in a way he was sure he'd not felt in the longest time. He asked Cas about his studies and they traded opinions and recommendations for books they both liked. Cas asked after Sam and Jess, and shared some stories about Gabe that had Dean howling in laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes and clutching at the counter top for support.

Out of what felt like nowhere Claire arrived, and the second she appeared at the counter whatever kind of spell he and Cas had been under was broken. Cas was glancing down at his watch and suddenly anxious to leave, mumbling quiet instructions to Claire about what she needed to know for her shift.

“You in some kind of hurry, Cas?” Dean said, watching Cas shrug awkwardly into what Dean had christened for himself his Constantine trenchcoat, looking distracted as though going through a mental checklist as he did.

“I am,” Cas confirmed, scribbling something down for Claire then stepping around to Dean's side of the counter and pausing beside him.

“Hot date?” Dean asked, mentally kicking himself and bracing for the worst, his stomach already sinking at the thought of Cas meeting somebody else. Cas went completely still right in front of him, staring at Dean like he was trying to read his mind.

“No,”

“A not hot date?” Dean continued, shifting uncomfortably on his stool, wondering where the hell his words were coming from; what right did he have to be asking such questions? What right did those kinds of words have to force their way out of him? Cas didn't owe him any explanations about anything.

Cas tilted his head a fraction and if that didn't make Dean's heart melt all over again to see it, making him force back the grin threatening to spill over when it conflicted with his heart lurching at the thought of Cas being with anyone but him.

“No, Dean. No date. I—my neighbor is away for a few days and I am feeding her cat; this morning she refused to eat anything and I am worried that if she is sick I will need to take her to the vet this evening,”

Dean couldn't stop the physical slump of his shoulders that showed his relief; thankfully Cas either didn't notice or chose not to comment on it. “Oh. Well, if you do, and you need a lift, you've got my number, right?"

Cas' eyes grew wider and his mouth twitched up into a sweet smile that Dean felt yet another flutter of his heart for seeing. He really, really had it bad, Dean realized, and found himself half-holding his breath for Cas' response.

“That is—that is very kind of you, Dean. Hopefully unnecessary, but—thank you,”

Dean shrugged, managing to hide his disappointment that he wouldn't have more time with Cas since he was clearly rushing to leave, hopping down from the stool and making his heart thump even louder for how close that action brought him to Cas, who didn't even back up to give him room. “I'll walk out with you. I can—I can drop you home if you wanna get back quicker?”

The look Cas rewarded Dean with, Dean thought he'd still be seeing when he eventually found his way to bed that night, finding himself glad Cas had finally stepped back from him when he did, for fear he would have just leaned in and kissed him if he hadn't. The car ride was only short since Cas was only a few minutes away from the cafe, and Dean debated about then offered to wait in case Cas wanted to leave for the vets again straightaway. Cas declined, shaking his head with a smile, stepping out of the car and turning back to look through the open window to thank Dean for the lift.

“Would you like to come to my apartment for dinner sometime this week, Dean?” Cas said, his words coming out in a sudden rush that had Dean wonder if they'd been rehearsed.

“Dinner?” Dean said, hearing the word fall out of his mouth a little stupidly and attempting not to wince for it.

Cas nodded, looking every inch shy, making Dean's pulse pick up all over again. “You said that you have not seen me very often outside of Tea Tales. I believe my apartment can be considered most definitely 'outside', yes? Despite it being actually, uh... inside?”

Cas' face took on a crushed look that said just how embarrassed he was for his fumbling words. Dean smiled, his heart surging for Cas and finding him honestly the most adorable thing he thought he'd ever seen. “Sounds good,”

The smile Cas turned on him then was so thankful, and so warm, Dean felt himself leaning towards it. After another moment Cas nodded to himself, then cleared his throat. “I even have,” Cas said, leaning down to rest his forearms on the edge of the open window before looking both ways as though checking that no one else was listening, which was hilarious because the street was practically deserted, “a coffee machine that makes coffee that is almost magical,”

Dean's blast of laughter bubbled up from his chest and out, sounding much louder than necessary as it ricocheted around the car's interior. The look on Cas' face seemed to tell Dean he thoroughly approved of such an outburst, grinning back at him just as wide, and waiting for an answer.

“Sounds real good, Cas. Let me know when and where. I'll be there,”

Cas smiled at him for another moment as though there was something else he wanted to say then nodded, and turned swiftly away on his heel leaving Dean to stare after him.  

* * *

Dean stared hard at his reflection; just past his shoulder so he wouldn't have to look directly at himself, and tugged on his shirt sleeves for what had to have been the fifth time. When he saw there really were no more changes he could make; no tweak of his hair, no adjusting of the buttons to somehow cover more of himself he sighed, closed his eyes, and left the room no doubt for more of Sam's commenting.

Not a date, he told himself for what had to be the hundredth time; just two friends getting to know each other over dinner, maybe with a beer. Nothing to try hard for or to think too hard about. Even though Cas was cooking and the dinner was at his apartment and they would be alone. Even then. Feeling his shoulders tense against whatever Sam might be about to say Dean grimaced, prepared for battle.

“Looking good,” Jess said, smiling warmly up at him from the couch and unsubtly hitting Sam in the stomach to look as well. Sam's eyes shot up from the book he'd been engrossed in and gave Dean the once over, a gesture that had Dean squirming with discomfort.

“What she said,”

Dean rolled his eyes, both at Sam's tone and in an effort to avoid the smirk there on Sam's face, grabbed his car keys, mumbling a goodbye over his shoulder.

“We won't wait up,” Sam called, his voice full of amusement; Dean paused just long enough to flip him off and closed the door behind him with a thud that was much louder than necessary.

The drive over to Cas' was full of much of the same inner monologue he'd been having since his invitation. Self-doubt, a lot of what am I doing? And a constant barrage of taunts from voices he both recognized and didn't that told him he was nothing, he was wasting Cas' time, he was wrong to even consider looking at Cas as anything other than a friend – and even for that to count himself very, very lucky.

But as Cas pulled the door open wearing a well-fitting navy shirt and even better fitting blue jeans, Dean's mouth grew dry and his thoughts distinctly more-than-friendly, and a feeling of something stirring in his gut that he'd half-tried to convince himself he didn't want anymore stretched and moved, rolling itself awake.

“Hey, Cas,” he stammered out, thrusting a paper bag at him and telling himself firmly that his hands were not shaking.

“Dean,” Cas replied in that voice that just did something to him, looking Dean up and down in a way that Dean desperately tried not to interpret as interested.

Cas stepped back and gestured for Dean to come in; Dean took a deep breath and stepped inside.

* * *

 

  
  



	7. In the company of Winchesters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

Pacing his apartment, Cas found himself growing more and more flustered by the minute.

He checked the dinner countless times, ensuring that the taste hadn't somehow altered in the five minutes since he'd last checked it. He passed by the mirror in his bedroom and tugged on his shirt, smoothing a hand over his chest as though that would keep any creases at bay. He checked his phone repeatedly, still expecting to receive a message from Dean to say he was canceling for some reason, any reason at all. And as the time for Dean's arrival grew closer, this frantic double checking of everything increased at an almost dizzying rate, with Cas' mind wandering, apparently determined to contribute further to his sense of panic.

It had been a whirlwind of really what Cas repeatedly told himself was no more than a few weeks where he'd gotten to know Dean better, avoided many unpleasant conversations with his mother in case she could just _tell_ , and been so thoroughly wound up and teased by Meg, Gabe—and even Claire sometimes—that on occasion Cas felt like groaning and hiding under his duvet until all the difficult people in his life went away. Which would be nearly all of them, he realized, with a slump of his shoulders, feeling a moment of sorrow for himself because people would just not let him be.

But as always happened of late, his thoughts would soon return to Dean, his traitorous mind would replay images of what Dean had last been wearing, the way he'd smiled, the way his eyes seemed to just dance, and Cas was lost all over again in an entirely different way. God help him but Cas was only human; he had to start reciting tea recipes in his head to keep calm whenever he remembered Dean had told him he was a firefighter, because the images that immediately assaulted him on hearing that were more than a little unwholesome.

But he was digressing, and thinking of Dean clad in those firefighter pants and braces and nothing else was seriously not helping the situation now, Cas told himself sternly as he checked the sauce for the pasta yet again and glared at the clock for simultaneously speeding up and slowing down before his eyes. The intercom buzzed and Cas' heart leaped; a final few seconds of reprieve were granted him as he imagined Dean riding the elevator, stepping out into the communal hallway on his floor, and—

The knock on his door actually made Cas gasp out loud, then feel thoroughly stupid for it.

Cas swung the door open in what he hoped was an easy manner; Dean stood there looking about as nervous as he was feeling and also as though he was trying to hide that fact as much as he was himself. That observation did nothing to help Cas at all, nor did what Dean was wearing; since meeting Dean Cas had found an appreciation for plaid that previously he'd only associated with the Grunge look he'd adopted in his teens in an attempt to if not fit in, then blend into the background, undisturbed.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean mumbled, shoving a paper bag against Cas' chest, giving him a few seconds to allow his eyes to sweep over Dean's appearance and force his throat to keep swallowing from where it had gone completely dry.

“There was no need to bring anything,” Cas found himself chiding, if for nothing else than for something to get his jaw moving. He turned on his heel once Dean was through the door, gesturing for him to follow him to the kitchen, and slid the bag down on the counter, tipping out its contents.

Red wine; Cas had mentioned this one was his favorite and seeing it there on his kitchen counter once he'd righted the bottle made his stomach lurch in affection for Dean remembering. A jar of honey from a local farmer's market that Cas said he wouldn't have time to visit; knowing that Dean had gone out of his way to get this for him just had Cas grinning even more. A small bag of coffee beans; Cas ran his finger over the crinkled package and looked up at Dean in question.

Dean's hand flew straight to the back of his neck and Cas held his breath at the gesture, recognizing it and the slight pinkness to his cheeks as the things that Dean did when he was embarrassed or feeling nervous. “Uh, yeah. Me and Sam went—you know. To that market you said about and—and I saw this stand, and you said—you know. 'bout your coffee machine, and—”

“Would you like some coffee before we eat?” Cas asked him, failing to keep the adoring smile from his lips but managing to interrupt Dean before he stumbled any further on his own words. Cas watched with a held breath as Dean's shoulders visibly slumped, as though he was finally allowing himself to relax a little.

“Sounds good,”

Cas ushered Dean from the kitchen and busied himself with the coffee machine, leaning back to sneak a glance at Dean as he wandered around his living room, picking up the few photo frames and running a finger along the spines of his books. Cas couldn't help notice the way Dean still stiffened when he bent a certain way, and had to bite back calling out, asking about the pain, offering to help.

“What did you do today?” Cas called instead, clutching for something to say that was neutral and could potentially steer his thoughts to somewhere less awkward.

“Uh—” Dean replied, walking back into the kitchen and standing right beside Cas as he waited for the coffee; his nearness had Cas' breathing on edge, and he carefully fought to control it, “drew a bit this morning. Went to see Charlie and she had me alphabetizing this new stock of anime she got in for a while,”

Cas turned and caught Dean's smile, instantly letting it lift the corners of his own mouth on seeing it. “And how is Charlie?”

Dean snorted, eyes turned to watch as Cas deftly prepared their coffee, his gaze making Cas have to take extra care with his movements. “Charlie's Charlie, you know? She's having this game night at hers on Saturday, wants me to come. Told me to extend the invitation to you as well, but—I don't know if it's really your kinda thing?”

Cas shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee and smiling at the taste as he went to the stove to stir their dinner for a final time. He hadn't met Charlie himself but Dean talked so often about her that Cas somehow felt he already knew her fairly well. “Board games?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, gesturing to offer his help, which of course, Cas declined, but secretly felt a thrill at the thoughtfulness of, “this big epic multi-platform orc-hunting demon-fighting thing. Can't remember the name of it. Sounds good, but it's been a while since I played anything so, uh... elaborate,”

Cas began serving up their dinner taking care to present the meal as perfectly as possible; Gabriel always gave him hell for the sloppy way he usually just threw things on plates when it was just the two of them, and he didn't want Dean to think he was a slob. “I don't believe I have ever played a game like that. But I would be willing to try,”

Dean shuffled closer leaving Cas telling himself he could feel the heat of him beside him, and when he spoke, his voice was full of surprise. “Seriously? You'll come with?”

“Of course,” Cas said simply, receiving a pleased smile from Dean that had his heart racing and his internal monologue to pick up new things to repeat to him.

* * *

Dinner, Cas thought with a sigh of relief as he rinsed plates to later stack in the dishwasher, was a success, with Dean moaning out his appreciation in a timbre that had Cas holding his breath and willing his jeans not to be tightening in the way that they already had. When he followed Dean into the living room moments after ushering him in there and needing a second to compose himself, Cas was brought to a complete standstill by the sight of Dean sitting awkwardly on the couch edge as though he wasn't sure he should have sat down uninvited.

“You look as though you are about to attempt an escape,” Cas observed, keeping his tone light as he closed the gap between them and slid the bottle of wine and two glasses down on to the low coffee table in front.

“Sorry,” Dean grinned back at him, though not showing any sign of actually relaxing.

“Will you have a glass of wine? I know you are driving, but—”

“One'll be fine,” Dean nodded, giving Cas another small smile and this time wriggling back as though to get himself more comfortable. Cas nodded in approval at what he was seeing and willed his hand not to shake as he poured them both a glass.

“'Sides. Don't think I can move yet anyway. I'm about to slip into a food coma," Dean add, raising his hand to spread wide over his stomach.

“I am impressed you managed a third portion,” Cas smiled, taking a sip of wine and briefly closing his eyes to the favored familiar taste on his tongue.

Dean's snort had Cas' eyes shoot open again to catch a slight blush to his cheeks. “Yeah, well. It's not often anyone cooks for me. And I, uh... lately I gotta... Gotta eat when I'm hungry, you know?"

Cas tilted his head, thinking for a moment about how that sounded to be such an odd statement, but then nodded in understanding. He would never use the word _depression_ with Dean, since it was far too soon to be presuming he could broach such a private subject. But he'd watched the way Dean's appetite went between extremes, amongst observing so many other things, and concluded it could be a symptom of that.

Carefully schooling his expression because he didn't want to offend Dean in any way with it, Cas took another sip and struggled for a subject change. “Do you like to cook, Dean? I know that you mentioned cooking for Sam and Jess, but—”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded with an easy smile that widened a little as he took a sip of wine for himself, “I do. I've cooked as long as I can remember, you know? And there were times when—when we didn't have much in and I had to get creative. Sam's eaten some rough experiments of mine,”

Cas was torn between wanting to smile at the obvious affection in Dean's voice, and the actual words. He was desperate to know more but didn't want to pry, which left him feeling stranded.

"My—I think I mighta mentioned my dad being—you know. Drinking and all,” Dean continued unprompted; Cas gave a small nod to help move the conversation along and sat as patiently as he could.

“He'd—when we were kids... he'd often disappear for a few days without leaving us any money for food, and, well; we'd have to pull together whatever we could from what was left in the fridge, you know? When we had it anyway,”

The truth was, Cas didn't know. His parents were constantly fighting when he grew up, continually disappointed in him, but lacking a basic thing like food was something he'd never experienced. It made him want to reach across the couch and curl his arms around Dean in comfort, but something told Cas that would be both unwise and unwanted. Instead Cas just smiled, and tried to keep it from looking too sad.

“What about you?” Dean said, shifting as though physically trying to change the subject. “Where'd you learn to cook like that?”

“My grandmother,” Cas told him with his own affectionate smile as her image settled in his mind, “my mother's mother. She was the most incredible woman. When my—when my parents were fighting, which was always, my grandmother would often come and collect me, and we would spend hours in the kitchen cooking together, sampling things, inventing new recipes,”

“That sounds—kinda nice, Cas. Not all of it, obviously,” Dean said with a slight look of panic, “not about your parents, but—”

“It was nice,” Cas smiled, feeling the wistful twist of his own mouth as a wave of nostalgia hit. The comforting smells of baking, a radio playing softly in the background, the blast of heat from the oven as they peeked through the door to check if whatever he and his grandmother had made was ready. The first taste of something new—

“It was,” Cas repeated, bringing himself back, “I miss her very much. It is very much her influence that inspired me to open Tea Tales,”

“Seriously?” Dean said, leaning forward appearing to be very interested in Cas' words; Cas tried to not tell himself it was just because Dean was being kind.

“Yes. She had a large section of her garden dedicated to herbs for making tea with. I would arrive at her house, usually in tears because I—I have never been comfortable hearing other people arguing—I still am not good at that—and she would look me over, frown, disappear into the garden and come back minutes later with a handful of things and start making me tea.”

Cas shifted a little, allowing the fond memory to comfort him. “She had this small, deep-drawered cabinet where she kept dried herbs, and she would mix everything together, and sometimes—sometimes when I was very young she would—she would pretend she was casting a spell over the teapot as though it was a cauldron; often reciting scenes from Macbeth as she did,”

The look Dean was giving him when Cas finally looked up was so endearing that Cas felt as though he had shrunk back into the sofa.

“And the tea helped?” Dean asked softly, as though he was afraid a louder voice might break the spell Cas felt he had woven for himself.

“The tea helped,” Cas confirmed with a small nod, “she used camomile, and valerian, and other things to calm me, mixed it with other herbs depending on whatever it was she was seeing when she looked at me,”

"Like you do with me all the time," Dean added, smiling warmly and making Cas' breath catch.

“I suppose,”

“And where'd you learn to, you know. Read body language and stuff? You said about the kinaesthetics once but I hadn't even heard of it 'till you said about it; had to look it up,” Dean continued, still seeming to be genuinely fascinated. Cas wasn't sure what to do with that, because there were so very few people interested in him, and his interests, that he wasn't sure what to do with the attention. And that Dean had actually taken the time to look up something he had mentioned to him was, Cas thought, bordering on unbelievable.

“I like to run,” Cas said, sitting back in his seat, feeling his old injuries ahead of talking about them. “Like most things in my life, I did not discover how much I enjoyed it until college. I used to try to compete in several events each year; it gave me something to focus on, a sense of purpose that I rarely felt with anything else. And a few years ago, now; perhaps six, or even seven, I was taking part in a marathon. There was a difficult stretch of road, and it was raining; a few of us fell, but we completed the race nonetheless. I woke up the next morning barely able to move. I went for physiotherapy, my therapist put me back together, told me about kinaesthetics. I took a course myself. And here we are,”

“And here we are,” Dean repeated, smiling with that still eager look on his face that Cas still didn't know what to do with for fear of misinterpreting.

“My grandmother—my grandmother was my one true friend growing up,” Cas said, shifting his conversation back and unconsciously dropping to a more gentle tone, her face in his mind so clear it was as though she was there with him. “Until college—until _Meg,_ there was no one else who I could really call a friend. And when she died, she left me a substantial amount of money which, naturally I suppose, caused numerous rifts within the family. My mother was furious that the majority of the proceeds from my grandmother's estate were to pass to me rather than to her; she argued that it was because it was unfair to Gabriel, who had received a much smaller amount that he was grateful for and had no interest in gaining anything further than. I suppose it has... contributed to my mother's continual disdain towards me even now,”

“Sorry, Cas,” Dean sighed, a sad pursing of his lips together endearing him to Cas even further.

“Back to the subject of my cafe; I have never been able to fix on one particular career. I like to write, but I do not feel... the small amount of writing it do, it is not enough to sustain a living. Opening Tea Tales served that purpose and also felt a good way to honor my grandmother's memory. The tea is from what I remember of her recipes, and my dedication to it is for her,”

Cas watched Dean, the way he seemed to be holding himself back, a look of such uncertainty on his face that it took Cas all of his restraint not to blurt out asking what he was thinking. Was Dean moving as though he was wanting to reach out and comfort Cas for his words? Was Cas himself misinterpreting the entire situation between them because it was something he wanted so much?

For all of Cas' ability to read people, to sense what they needed, to recognize where they were in pain, he struggled with the more basic understanding of people. There had been times over these past couple of months when he was almost certain there was interest coming from Dean. Some of the things Dean had said Cas had taken to bed at night and analyzed until he was cursing himself for not sleeping. The problem was, and would always be, that Cas had never been the best when it came to people. He had so many uncertainties even before Balthasar's departure, and after that he was left this awkward, outwardly-confident, internally-insecure mess that was him, that he couldn't see anyone else being interested in spending time with - even as a friend.

But Dean, Dean seemed to enjoy his company, didn't he? Didn't he go out of his way to come to Tea Tales several times a week, despite his permanent complaint of a distinct lack of coffee? Didn't he and Dean send messages back and forth almost every single day now? Wasn't there a _something_ constantly in the air between them that made his heart frequently jolt? Cas frustrated himself trying to find the answer to that most days, but this evening, when he had Dean's company to himself for an extended period without interruption, Cas chided himself for allowing the distraction and did his best to force the thought away, trying to focus on Dean being with him there instead.

Dean continued staring at him, and an expression took over his face that told Cas he was debating about something with himself. That hand Cas had convinced himself Dean was thinking of reaching out with wrapped in a hesitant curl around Cas' arm and squeezed. “I'm... sorry you lost your grandmother, Cas. And I'm... I'm sorry your family stuff is... is difficult,”

Cas' throat constricted forcing him to swallow hard, alarmed at himself for the sudden flood of emotion he found himself having to hold back.

“And... as kids. Me and Sam always... we spent years moving around all the time. Sam makes friends like it's the easiest thing in the world, but I... I guess I've got... guess it takes me a little while to make any kind of connection – most of the time,” Dean added, squeezing Cas' arm affectionately and giving him a wink that had Cas' stomach knotting, “and even when we eventually stopped in Lawrence. I mean I had friends, but I... I didn't do so well at keeping 'em, you know? Just hung around with people 'til they figured out they wanted to be doing other things. And me and Sam. I mean he really did do better at making friends than I ever did, but we were always the outsiders no matter what, 'cos of my Dad. I guess what I'm saying, Cas, is—is I get what you meant when you- when you said about not having so many friends and all,”

“They do say that children are cruel,” Cas offered, reaching up to squeeze his fingers over Dean's, who smiled at the gesture and lifted his just enough to snag around Cas' thumb for a moment then slid his hand down and off of Cas arm leaving a trail of residual warmth.

“Yeah. But I mean. Even after school. Even when I started at the station; I'd be invited to stuff—barbecues, work nights out and all. And I'd go along but I'd—I never really had a group of regular friends, you know? And when my dad... a couple of years before- before he died,” Dean's face clouded over with his jaw tensing; Cas fought against the urge to reach out and run his fingers along it, “he got real... really difficult to handle. So I went out less and less, and there's only so many times people'd send me messages and invite me to stuff only for me to turn 'em down, before they stopped asking altogether,”

Sadness for Dean sat heavy in Cas' chest, and without thinking or second-guessing Cas reached his hand across to where Dean was now resting his own against his lap and linked their fingers together, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of his hand in Dean's for a couple of seconds before forcing himself to pull his hand away again.

“Then I hope that... I hope that now you have decided to stay here, that you will be able to form friendships that—that are more enduring than you have known,”

Dean's eyes on Cas' then had him holding his breath, the look on his face so difficult to interpret.

“Yeah, me too, Cas. Me too; but I wasn't—I wasn't saying all of that to... to try and take anything away from what you were saying. I was just—I was just tryna tell you that I get it. I understand,”

The rush of embarrassed blush to Dean's cheeks than had Cas smiling helplessly, the awkwardness he had felt an undercurrent of all evening written all over Dean's face as well, and surprising Cas by making him feel better to know they shared it. With renewed confidence, Cas settled himself back more comfortably into the couch, twisting slightly to let his forehead knock against Dean's shoulder with a soft hum, before sitting back up and smiling at him ruefully.

“Meg would say that we are both socially lacking; in fact she would have many worse things to say that are infinitely more unkind,” which had Dean snorting with laughter and sitting back more comfortably himself, allowing his shoulder to press lightly against Cas'.

“I don't mind, Cas. I don't... I don't mind being socially _awkward_ if I'm... if I'm doing it with you,” Dean replied, his eyes instantly blowing wide as saucers the second the words were out of his mouth, beginning to stutter to try and claw them back.

“I understand, Dean,” Cas told him, pressing firmer back against him and smiling hard, more heat blooming in his chest and knowing he was a lost cause when it came to Dean, “I understand,”

* * *

Cas' next few days passed in a blur.

There was the surprisingly fun board game night where he got to meet Charlie and some of her friends, and had been subjected to subtle teasing about how close he and Dean sat together throughout the evening, with Dean blushing beside him though not denying a single word of it. And more days than not he'd seen Dean, who would come into Tea Tales as though he knew the perfect time Cas wanted to see him, often staying long after the cafe closed and just sitting there talking with him as though he had nowhere else he'd rather be.

This crush on Dean, Cas told himself with a soft groan, was weaving its way into every moment of his life. Cas couldn't stop himself from hoping that all the little signs he thought he was reading in Dean meant he felt at least some of those same things back.

Mid afternoon mid week, with the uncharacteristically high temperatures making tea the last thing on peoples' minds, and Cas was sat in Tea Tales with just his own company, adamantly telling himself he wasn't continually checking his phone for Dean's messages. Though there was no real pattern to when they sent their messages there was usually some kind of contact between them before this time of the day, and Cas heard cruel whispers in the back of his mind about all sorts of reasons for Dean not wanting to speak to him.

The bell of the door opening interrupted those thoughts, and Cas found himself straightening up a little taller to see Sam walking towards him with a tired smile that seemed to pull down his entire face.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam said, sounding just as tired as he looked. There were bags under his red-ringed eyes, and a hint of stubble that looked so out of place with the neatness of his suit, momentarily giving Cas a flashback of his mother yelling at his father for looking unkempt when he was leaving for work. Cas pushed the thought away and returned Sam's greeting, telling himself not to be looking him over and trying to guess what was wrong.

“'M good, thanks, Cas; you?” but Sam's reply had none of its usual brightness there; Cas desperately fought against the urge to ask a string of questions.

“I am well. What would you like?”

Sam gave a small laugh and wrapped his hands around the edge of the counter, allowing his shoulders to sag forward. “Got anything that d fix this?” Cas watched as Sam raised a hand to wave a circle over his face and smiled in sympathy as he turned away to begin to prepare some tea.

“Rough night?” Cas called over his shoulder, hearing Sam settle himself on a stool with a soft groan. That was unusual; Sam rarely came to the cafe alone to sit, usually on his way to work or wherever else it was that he went when he wasn't here.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Sam said with an exhausted laugh, and Cas heard the tail end of a yawn. Before Cas had to chide himself yet again not to ask questions Sam was asking, “heard from Dean today?”

Instantly Cas froze, feeling that he'd been caught doing something wrong. “I have not,” he replied with as much caution as he could whilst attempting to give a neutral response. Sam's heavier sigh at his answer had Cas spinning round instantly on the spot. “Is Dean okay?”

The smile Sam gave him then was warm, and even thankful; Cas felt clueless and unable to interpret it. “Yeah, I guess,”

Another pause and Cas was holding his breath, finding himself caught under Sam's assessing scrutiny and not knowing what he was actually looking for.

“He's—he's been having trouble sleeping,” Sam finally admitted, drumming his fingers absently on the counter top as he watched Cas check on the tea.

“Yes, he told me. I had hoped that the tea I had given him was helping—”

“It is. It does,” Sam assured him instantly, shaking his head, “just—sometimes it's—he needs _more_ , you know? He needs more,”

Cas nodded, unsure of what he was supposed to say to that, instead concentrating on preparing a take out cup for Sam, but stopped from doing so by Sam clearing his throat and calling out with, “I'll, uh, I'll drink it here. If that's okay?” to which Cas replied with a simple _of course_ before quickly gathering together one of his favorite teapots and matching cups. Cas transferred everything on to a tray and pushed it up in front of Sam, fingertips gripping around the tray's edge.

“Something to eat?”

Sam leaned back to look at the display and pointed to a cake; Cas cut him a generous slice then stood as casually as he could manage when all he wanted to do is ask questions about Dean.

“So good,” Sam said around a mouthful; Cas grinned to himself at how much his expression was like Dean's. “So,” Sam added after another mouthful, carefully looking over Cas in a way that told him to expect an awkward conversation, “it's pretty obvious my brother likes you,”

Cas felt himself holding his breath and willed his eyes not to look as they felt; out on stalks in terror though his heart pounding with excited triumph. “Uh—”

“Every other word is _Cas, this_ and _Cas, that._ And I know he comes in here all the time,” Sam added, a brief glance around Tea Tales that settled back on Cas' face with another smile. Cas felt unable to say a single word, and his silence seemed to confirm something to Sam, because he was instantly grinning at him in amusement.

“Something tells me you like him too. Am I right?”

“Sam,” Cas began, having to clear his throat in an attempt to make his voice come out evenly, “I can assure you that—”

“It's good,” Sam cut him off with, that grin widening, “it's really good. I mean honestly- I haven't seen him _like_ anyone since- since forever, actually. The longest time, anyway; really, really long,” Cas found himself watching Sam's change of expression at his own realization and yet still lacked the words to respond so just stared back, waiting.

“Thing is,” Sam added; Cas braced himself for a hundred different things and worried how much Sam might not approve. A little? A lot? Too much for Dean to ever come back in here again? “Dean's—Dean's been through a lot, you know?”

“Yes,” Cas told him cautiously, “we have talked a fair amount,”

Sam shook his head, chuckling to himself and looking even more amused. “Wow,” and his one word answer had Cas shifting with discomfort for the weight behind it, desperate for an explanation though frightened to make himself ask.

“ _Talk._ Cas, you said _talk._ Dean never talks. I mean he does, but not without, like, a real fight for it. He hates talking, always internalizes everything. It's- frustrating as hell at times, actually. Seeing him go over stuff inside his own skull, when —when if he would just talk maybe-”

"I have never forced him to talk," Cas shook his head quickly, anxious for Sam to know that.

“I know,” Sam agreed, finishing off the last of his cake with a small sigh of satisfaction, “that's the thing. He won't talk about anything unprompted. But I know he's talked to you; he's _told_ me he has. And it's—it can only be a good thing,”

Unconsciously Cas slumped in relief, feeling that in a way, he was receiving Sam's approval.

“I don't need details,” Sam went on, careful with his choice of words, “but—can I ask what he's told you? Just an outline. I don't wanna be overstepping any mark 'cos it's his business, but—I wanna know what I can and can't say myself,”

“Uh,” Cas started, pulling over a stool and sitting down himself, “he told me about the fire, how he got injured—”

“All of it?” Sam interrupted abruptly, eyes wide in surprise and making Cas' heart jolt a little at the thought of what more there might be to know.

“Uh... he told me he pulled a couple of people out. That there were also some fatalities. And without explicit detail he—he said that he was injured,”

Cas watched on in silence as Sam nodded thoughtfully to himself. “Second and third degree burns to... well. A lot of him. Seriously thought I was gonna lose him when the doctors told me that and before he actually woke up. Could've done with maybe some skin grafts in places but Dean just... I mean if the doctors had given him no options and said he had to have it done, he'd have maybe done it, but. The second there was a chance for him to just _leave_ the hospital and... and try and recover pretty much on his own, his was out of there,”

Cas processed the information, the explanation for the pain and stiffness that he often saw pressing Dean down confirmation of what he'd long suspected. He made a mental note to look up some more information on burns himself to see if there were any other herbs he could add to the tea he frequently pushed on Dean when he visited, and Dean drank without objection. Sam continued to smile at him grimly, and Cas realized he was waiting for him to keep talking.

“He told me—he told me you had a difficult- a difficult upbringing. Both of you,”

Sam became perfectly still, staring back at Cas slightly open-mouthed. “He—what'd he say?”

“He told me some things. About your father. About your father's... behavior,” and Cas prayed that that was enough information because somehow he didn't think he could get the rest of the words out.

“...Seriously?” the disbelief in Sam's voice Cas could only nod at. “What he say?”

It was Cas' turn to shift in discomfort yet again. “He told me that your father had a problem with drinking. That it made him aggressive on occasion...”

Sam's eyes grew impossibly wider making Cas feel a little trapped under his gaze. “He told you that?” Sam's reply was quiet, surprised, in awe almost, as well as so obviously upset by the reminder the words brought. Cas didn't know what to think about that or even where to look so simply nodded.

“We... yes, Sam. We talked about that. Only a little, but—”

“He never, ever talks about that, Cas. He—when he said he'd talked to you, I just figured—I kinda figured he'd glossed over the details—”

“He did not give me any specific detail—”

“But he _told_ you. He never talks about that, not unless I force him, and I never wanna do that – not about _that,_ anyway _._ I don't wanna be the one to dredge up those memories for him; bad enough he even has those memories in the first place,”

“Oh,” Cas said, rocking back on his stool a little and shaking his head, not knowing what to say, “no, Sam, I would not want that either; I never asked, I—”

“It's okay,” Sam reassured him with yet another smile, waving his hand to dismiss Cas' fears, “he—he must trust you to even say anything about it at all. It's good—great that he's talking to anyone. I wish he'd see someone professionally, but—that's never gonna happen,”

At the thought of Dean even needing counseling for anything, Cas' stomach dropped, and they sat in silence for a few minutes with neither of them knowing what to say.

“He has nightmares,” Sam told him after a while, his eyes searching Cas' face over for any look of discomfort or disapproval at his words. Cas kept perfectly still under Sam's inspection, already having assumed that nightmares might be contributing to Dean's inability to sleep.

“Did he have a nightmare last night?” Cas asked, the reason for the look of exhaustion on Sam's face finally dawning on him.

“Yeah,” Sam groaned, wiping a tired hand over his face, “he's had 'em since he moved here. Probably before too, not that he's ever told me,”

The sad look on Sam's face at his own words had Cas itching to reach out and offer comfort. “Last night was probably the worst so far though,” and the look of pain on Sam's face then had Cas' heart sink for both of them.

“Do you know what it was about?”

“It's usually the fire. There's been a couple about—about our _dad_ ,” Sam said, still looking Cas over and then tearing his eyes away. “Last night though, I don't know- I guess it was everything all mixed up together,”

Cas nodded, waiting for Sam to continue because there was nothing he could offer to add to the conversation.

“When they're bad, they usually wake us all up, you know? Me, and Jess. Not that either of us mind that—we just—it's hell seeing him like that, you know? I go into his room and- and he's kicking and screaming and thrashing in his sleep—sometimes so much that it opens up some of his wounds. And- last night I kinda had to pin him to the bed to stop him injuring himself with how much he was rolling about. He's—it was a bad one, Cas,”

“I am so sorry,” Cas said, because there was little else he could say as images of a terrified Dean kicking and screaming assaulted him leaving Cas feeling sick, “how is he now?”

“Sleeping, I hope,” Sam said, grimacing. “I finally convinced him to take some sleeping pills—over the counter stuff, 'cos the stubborn bastard won't take what his doctor's probably constantly offering him. We were up at about three this morning, 'cos after I got him to wake up he was really, really sick, and it always takes even longer for the panic to go away after that happens. Man, his heart was racing so hard I wanted to call a doctor, but he wouldn't let me, so...”

Sam's voice trailed away in obvious frustration at not being able to do anything.

“He's not always like this,” Sam said out of nowhere, now looking as though worried he was giving the wrong impression. “I mean he's a good guy; he's solid, he's—”

“If you think I would in any way think less of your brother because of what you have just told me you are very, very mistaken, Sam,” Cas told him firmly, bristling with indignance at even the thought of Sam believing that of him.

Suitably comforted and chastised, Sam shifted on his stool, drained the last of his tea and poured himself the remainder from the pot. “We—Jess was on a late shift today so she sat with him till he fell asleep again. I was in court for nine this morning—”

“Then it is no wonder that you are tired,” Cas finished for him, smiling in sympathy all over again.

“I—it's probably best you don't tell him I told you,” Sam said, stretching a little as he spoke and standing with obvious reluctance.

“Though if he asks,” Cas replied, feeling the need to be honest. Because he didn't see how it would be possible to keep anything from Dean. A kind of quiet respect took over Sam's face then and he nodded, smiling slightly to himself.

A few more words were spoken between them then Sam was gone again, leaving Cas alone with his own thoughts trying to work out what he could do to help. He served another few customers still with that thought on his mind, wondering what he could do to broach the subject with Dean without it being obvious he knew.

A moment later and he had his answer. In a flurry of activity Cas began pulling the ingredients together for a soup his grandmother always made him when he was at his worst. There had been times when he had cried himself raw at the anger of his parents; on those days his grandmother had scooped him up into her arms, glared and said a few pointed words to his parents that at the time he hadn't really understood, then taken him to her home, wrapping him up in the only affection and comfort he'd ever known as a child. The soup had somehow become a part of that affection, and when he was sure it was as perfect as it could be he poured out a bowlful, placing it on a tray alongside a slice of pie he'd already put to one side for Dean.

_Hungry?_

He messaged along with a picture, after deliberating over many other words for a good few minutes.

Dean's reply came exactly seven and a half minutes later, not that Cas was counting, of course.

_Starved. See you in a few :)_

Cas smiled to himself and let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps he couldn't fix everything that was happening with Dean, he thought, straightening out things on the counter and checking himself over for stray splashes of food, ducking to look in the mirror to check that his hair wasn't too unruly and that the stubble on his jaw wasn't making him look overly untidy. But he could do this for Dean; make him comfort food and listen if he found the words he needed to talk.

With a decisive nod at himself Cas turned to stare the clock down, willing it to turn faster as he waited for Dean to arrive.

* * *

 

  
  
  
  



	8. The inevitable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

Dean didn't specifically know when he had allowed himself to relax enough for it to come to be a thing between them, and occasionally found himself wondering if Cas put as much overthinking into it as he himself did finding reasons to instigate touch. But when they sat side by side their arms would graze or press against one another. If Cas handed him something over the counter of Tea Tales or Dean brought an empty plate back, their fingers touched, and lingered for just those few extra seconds that meant it was deliberate. Cas would slide a slice of pie on to his table or the counter surface if the cafe wasn't too busy and in doing so would have his hand gently wrapped around Dean's shoulder or arm, and there were about a hundred other ways it felt like one of them was nudging that little bit more, reaching out to touch more often.

It was the night after that nightmare from hell a couple of weeks ago, when waking seemed like the worst form of torture possible, when Dean had first really allowed himself to believe all these little things between them weren't so one-sided. That Cas might be wanting to be close to him just as much. Dean had found himself in Tea Tales with soup Cas had made especially for him, with Cas' hand lingering there on his back in a resting kind of comfort for almost the entire time he was there. And Dean hadn't shrugged him away once, more leaned into it, allowed himself the warmth and the tentative thought that perhaps despite all of his doubts and second-guessing, this was something he might get to have.

When he was alone with his thoughts and Dean was cataloging each and every one of these gestures between he and Cas, he found that as much as he welcomed them he also feared them. Because what if he lucked out and they did lead to more? What if they didn't? What if he finally gave in to the urge to just grab and kiss Cas that constantly whispered in the back of his head, and Cas happily returned that kiss? When would it turn into something else, and would just a second's glimpse at the mess that was Dean's body be all it took to make Cas shove him firmly away again? The thought of Cas being repulsed by him, by having to see the angry chaos of scars that covered so much of his body now, and Dean was all but ready to jump in the Impala and just drive, far away, away from himself if possible. Cas was good, a kind, gentle guy, but he was also only human. Why wouldn't he be disgusted by the sight of Dean and the mess that was his former skin?

But in that moment, stood in the warm comfort that was Tea Tales with Cas busy in the kitchen behind him washing the last of the dishes after the two of them had cleaned everything else down, an easy comfort hanging in the air between them and no rush to be going anywhere, how could Dean not want things to develop with Cas, when Cas was, without doubt, the most interesting, amazing, attractive person Dean had met in a long, long time?

“You know, Dean, there is no need for you to help with anything,” Cas called across the cafe as Dean flipped the closed sign and bolted the door, breaking him from his confusing train of thought.

“I know,” Dean agreed, smiling as he turned back and walked over to the counter, “don't mind,”

The truth was, Dean thought, that since that awful, terrible nightmare that had been the one that made even him question his irrational refusal to get some real help with his problems, sleep had become a little easier for him. Now he managed around four hours unbroken instead of one or two, and though he still took forever to fall asleep, Dean usually didn't wake until after the sun had already risen, truly feeling refreshed. And with that replenishing sleep came what felt like new life in his limbs. His recovery seemed more like a smooth path instead of what had been stop-start chaos for so long, and though he still woke with residual stiffness and from time to time his skin flared angry for apparently no reason, Dean felt more like himself again. Which meant that helping Cas clear a few tables and sweep the odd floor he actually enjoyed doing, not only because he got to help and in doing so spend that extra time with Cas, but also just for the fact that he actually _could_.

“If you are attempting to earn yourself extra pie it is unnecessary,” Cas told him with a gummy kind of grin that had Dean's heart skipping a beat each and every time he saw it.

“You got me,” Dean shrugged grinning back just as hard, that heartbeat a little faster at the way Cas let out a soft laugh and patted at the counter, gesturing for Dean to sit.

“Come here,”

Dean gave a careful hop up onto a stool at the counter, feeling the stretch and tension of his skin but happy to not feel anything remotely like the pain he had been feeling. He continued watching as Cas slid the final two slices of a pie on to a plate and pushed it in front of Dean, handing him a fork.

“Eat,”

"Tryna fatten me up, Cas?" Dean said, already with his mouth full and a soft sigh of appreciation escaping from his lips.

"I assume you have eaten little today," Cas told him with an arch to his voice, turning away again and finishing the last of his cleaning routine.

Dean stopped mid-chew; his appetite was one of the things that hadn't returned entirely to normal for him yet, able to go hours before realizing he hadn't had anything at all to eat. “How'd you figure that?”

Giving a brief look over his shoulder that Dean was certain was laced with sadness, Cas gave an easy shrug and replied with, “I could see it. In the way you—I could just tell,”

Dean looked down at himself as though he might find some kind of indicator he wasn't aware of having, shaking his head when he found nothing. “Don't know how you do that, Cas, but it's kinda spooky sometimes,”

Cas turned swiftly, eyes drifting between the plate and Dean's lips in silence, then nodded with satisfaction as Dean did just as he was insinuating and ate, turning away from him again to finish his work.

“So, what're you doing when you're done here?” Dean asked around a mouthful of pastry, smiling when Cas told him he had no plans; it meant they'd probably spend at least a little time together before Dean inevitably found himself having to offer to take Cas home.

Dean finished his pie watching Cas click through the app he used on his tablet to keep a track of his accounts, offering him a smile when he walked around the counter and hopped up beside him with a tired sigh, then reach for and absently crumbled up a muffin he'd left for himself and scooping it up into his mouth in small bites. Their arms brushed; Dean found himself leaning in, and Cas leaning back, comfortable and as natural as if this was something they had always done.

In the now-empty cafe with only the occasional sounds of people passing by outside, the looks between them grew longer, and the leaning was joined by a slight turning in to each other until their thighs were pressing firmly side by side. The repeated urge for something to happen between them grew overwhelming then for Dean, and with his eyes unstoppable from continuing to linger down on Cas' mouth, Dean found himself closing the gap between them and claiming a kiss.

Days and weeks of fantasising about just this moment, all the difficulty of reading gestures, lingering touches, who would lean first and what they might say in the lead up to it and instead, easy as anything, this was where they were. Dean had a single second of actually feeling disappointed that it had happened without any fumbling drama or fanfare, but Cas' lips on his and the quiet little breathy moans that whispered of Cas' own relief, and Dean was instantly addicted.

The way Cas gently stroked his fingers across Dean's cheek before cupping it, the way he seemed to shuffle forward further still and gather Dean towards him at the same time; all of it. Dean slid his fingers through Cas' hair and closed his eyes with a relieved sigh at the feel of it finally between his fingers, turning and leaning himself in closer still, and shifting until one of his knees was slotted between the warmth of Cas'.

Cas' answering moan had Dean's heart thudding; Dean found himself having to pause for a moment to lean their foreheads together before diving straight back in with a kiss that grew a little more demanding and a touch less chaste. When they pulled away from each other this time they were both left a little breathless. Dean stroked just his fingertips down Cas' face, like anything less gentle might actually reveal him to be dreaming, lingering at his jawline before he sat back a touch, and with Cas' loose grip around his waist dropping until his hands were in his lap. Reaching across a little shakily to rest his own hand on top of Cas', Dean gave him an unconcealed once over then huffed, shaking his head at himself.

“Guess that just happened, huh?” Dean said, hearing his voice come out scratchy and with a tremble and yet still sounding so much calmer than he was feeling.

Cas grinned, and to Dean's relief seemed to be nothing but equally excited. “It would appear so,”

Dean sucked his lip into his mouth and bit down, his eyes lingering over Cas' face for any sign of regret. He had to check this time, be certain that this was what Cas really wanted. He had to be sure. “Wanna, uh—wanna do it again?”

Cas snorted and reached out to grab and pull Dean's face to his, kissing him thoroughly as though he didn't want to miss a taste of him, until they were both breathless all over again. Dean's heart hammered loudly through the entire kiss, his hands sneaking out to slide first over Cas' thighs then to grip lightly around his hips, attempting to rein in his wandering thoughts of touching even more of him.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes," Dean said eventually and making Cas laugh, then laced their fingers together and smiled wide, allowing himself to feel happiness surge through him. “So Cas,” Dean began, forcing back the voices telling him not to say anything stupid, “I, uh—dinner at yours—that was... Was that a _date_?”

The tone of blush on Cas' cheeks was like sunshine, Dean found himself thinking, then immediately laughed at himself for thinking such things.

“I—would say yes? At least... I would like it to have been. If that was okay—if... if that was something that you also wanted?” Cas' hesitance and hopeful look had Dean automatically leaning in to kiss him all over again, repeatedly telling himself he couldn't believe his own luck.

“I'd say it was more than okay,” Dean whispered, cupping his cheek again and sighing as Cas closed the gap to kiss him, gently leaning to rest his hands around Dean's waist.

“I have wanted to have this happen,” Cas whispered against him, nuzzling into his cheek before bending to kiss him once more, "I have wanted to do this for the longest time,"

“Me too,” Dean admitted immediately, crowding ever closer as though now the barrier between them had broken he couldn't stop himself, “god, me too, Cas. For so long now,”

“I was never sure,” Cas told him softly, pausing a moment to press his head down into the crook of Dean's neck.

“Be sure. And—are you? Are you sure, Cas?” Though he could kick himself for the uncertainty in his voice Dean had no control over it, terrified that if Cas was to see him for what he was he might pull back. Dean held his breath as his mind raced at the possibility of Cas now changing his mind, desperate to silence the voices battling for dominance telling him he would never be good enough to have this. To have Cas.

Cas smiled at him, the sweetness of it hitting Dean square in the chest. “Of course I am sure. I have not—I have not felt like this for—for—”

"Even though I'm like this?" Dean interrupted, biting down on his lip and diverting his anxiousness at Cas' answer to the pain of doing that.

Cas tilted his head, studying Dean with a slight frown of confusion and this tiny head tilt that Dean couldn't help but smile at. “Like what?”

“This,” Dean repeated, gesturing absently at himself. Again, Cas looked confused, giving a light shake of his head.

"I'm—I'm scarred up pretty bad, Cas," Dean said, hating how shaky his voice came out. "And—and I'm kinda a mess. Up here,” Dean pressed a finger against his temple and jolted as Cas tutted and reached out, wrapping his entire hand around Dean's finger to pull it away again.

“We are all messes, Dean, in some way,” Cas told him, squeezing around his finger softly before releasing it, “that does not change the way that I feel about you,”

“Oh yeah?” Dean replied, feeling alternating waves of shyness and hope wash through him as he tentatively reached out to rest both of his hands on Cas' thighs, “and how's that?”

Cas let out a sigh and smiled at Dean then, looking so very happy that Dean couldn't help but be swept up by it. "That there are not enough hours in the day to spend with you. That—that I would like for us to go out together on another date. Multiple dates. That—that I want to kiss you again, very much,”

His heart gave a thud that felt loud enough for Cas to be able to hear as Dean gently squeezed Cas' legs where his hands rested and leaned forward. “So?” Dean asked, letting his eyes drop to linger on Cas' lips as he bit down on his own, “what're you waiting for?”

* * *

A little after their first kiss, Cas had grabbed Dean by the hand and led him out of Tea Tales, down the street, and into the bar they had visited after Cas' poetry recital. They had pressed up against one another in a corner booth with infinitely more confidence and assuredness than that first time, barely able to keep the grins off of their faces or resist leaning in for kisses. Cas had then walked Dean back to his car, and Dean had insisted on driving Cas home; the makeout session across the Impala's front seats afterward was the memory Dean fell asleep to that night, and had featured heavily on the subsequent nights as well.

On their first acknowledged date a couple of nights later, Cas had picked Dean up in a flashy sports car Gabriel had loaned him for the evening, with Sam and Jess non-discreetly peering through the curtains like parents on prom night as he pulled into their drive. Cas had taken him to an exhibition at an art gallery showcasing works of the artists of graphic novel writers and anime, mumbling comments at him for the entire time about how his work was equally as good, if not better.

And now it was Dean's turn to organize something for them to do just five nights after that first kiss. Not that _a_ he was counting or _b_ every night since then there hadn't been a whole load more moments between them. Dean had stayed behind long after Tea Tales had closed the past few nights, leaving with the taste of Cas on his lips along with whatever pie Cas had fed him during the evening.

Idly, sitting in the car and peering through the cafe window as he waited for Cas to close up—since Cas had insisted Dean would be too much of a distraction if he came in and they'd never leave on time—Dean patted at his stomach, wondering if all this pie was doing him more harm than good. He debated upping the amount of gentle exercise he already had got himself back into doing then grimaced to himself, thinking of all the worst case scenarios of what he must look like to others. Specifically, Cas, whose regular running and active work in the cafe left him lithe and muscular beneath Dean's grip.

A surge of _what ifs_ rushed at Dean then making him flinch, closing his eyes and missing the exact moment Cas stepped out of Tea Tales and locked up. Dean jolted when the creaking of the passenger door opening announced Cas sliding in, but thankfully Cas didn't notice, just smiling at him a little shyly as he settled in his seat and leaned over even more shyly to give him a ridiculously chaste kiss.

In reaction Dean raised his hand to cup the back of Cas' head and held him in place, kissing him a little less chastely until they were staring at each other with stupid grins on their faces. “Good day, Cas?”

“It was,” Cas confirmed with the slightest of nods, still barely an inch away from Dean's face, “it is even better now,”

“Oh really,” Dean replied, watching as Cas' eyes flitted down to Dean's lips and his own twitched up at the corners before he pressed forward mumbling in agreement against them.

“So,” Cas mumbled again a few minutes later, his fist ungripping from Dean's shirt and sliding its way down his chest to rest over Dean's hand, “where are we going this evening?”

Giving a wink that he hoped told Cas to wait and see, Dean sat back in his seat, reaching out and firing up the engine, turning out on to the road and allowing the routine of driving steady his nerves the fraction he needed it. That he wanted to be on a date with Cas, or to just be with Cas in any way at all was already a given; but he was so scared of messing up that it took him several minutes to think about what he wanted to say.

"I'm, uh, I'm not great at this," Dean said finally, feeling as though he was reading Cas a disclaimer. He glanced over to check Cas' expression and found him smiling back with encouragement, which gave Dean the strength to clear his throat and continue. "I mean—I'm—not had a lot of time for- dating, relationships, whatever. The past few years at least, anyway. And I- I just-”

“Dean,”

Dean swallowed the gasp of surprise that threatened its way out at the feel of Cas softly resting his hand high on Dean's thigh for no longer than a couple of seconds, but just enough to get his attention.

“I have no expectations. I mean—I meant that—that there is no pressure here for anything. I hope you do not feel as though this is some sort of trial for you,”

“I don't,” Dean assured him immediately, turning to look at him and hope that the expression on his face backed up his words enough for Cas to understand. “I just—I don't wanna let you down, 's all,”

“How could anything we do that involves us spending time together be in any way you letting me down?” Cas replied, looking so thoroughly perplexed by the idea that Dean found himself reaching across the seat to sink his fingers between Cas' and leave their hands there together against Cas thigh. Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as Cas' eyes tracked the movement, the small smile he gave, and felt himself sag in relief when Cas stroked his thumb over the back of his hand.

“So. Where are we going?” Cas repeated after a couple more minutes. A blast of what felt very much like attempts at excuses launched themselves at Dean then, making him wince as he fought all of them back.

“Well. It's a fairly warm night. I figured—I mean I thought. I—”

“Dean,”

“There's this—I thought maybe we could—I packed a few things and thought maybe we could go down near the docks. Park up, maybe take a walk, have a kind of—I don't know. Picnic. From here,”

Cas squeezed Dean's hand when he stopped talking; Dean felt brave enough to look over to see what Cas thought of his suggestion, relieved all over again that it seemed to be at least acceptable to him.

“That sounds perfect, Dean, thank you,”

“You sure? 'Cos we could—”

"I am sure. I would like that very much,” Cas assured him, squeezing his hand again. Dean's heart thudded a little in both relief and excitement, asking more questions about Cas' day to pass the time and calm his nerves until before he knew it they were pulling up into a parking spot and cutting the engine once more.

“You wanna—you okay with eating first?” At Cas' nod, Dean all but leaped out of the car and rushed to the trunk, cursing himself for not knowing if he was supposed to go round and open Cas' door for him as well or if that would have been a gesture too much. Cas though, not seeming to be fazed in the slightest, appeared seconds later by his side and reached out to take one of the bags Dean was reaching for himself, smiling at him and looking so happy to be there, patiently waiting for whatever Dean was going to suggest.

“I thought maybe we could sit on the hood,” Anyone else, Dean thought to himself at Cas' simple acceptance of his suggestion, anyone else might laugh, or even sneer at this simple idea for a date. Anyone else would probably point out that this was maybe the kind of date to take your teenage sweetheart on, not an incredibly attractive, fascinating man who was another world of intelligence away from himself.

Dean kept a lid on those thoughts though, because it seemed unfair to Cas to keep up the internal monologue of ridicule whilst they were there together. Dean hopped up on the hood in a movement that spoke of his many years of practice and held a hand out to help Cas up, who slid up nimbly beside him smiling the entire time.

No one should look that pleased to be eating a sandwich, Dean thought to himself as Cas leaned back against the windshield and hummed with contentment around his food. But Cas was just that, or seemed just that—content, to be in Dean's company, to not be second-guessing or questioning anything at all. Dean watched him for a few moments as they spoke and ate, and decided, though hesitantly, to follow Cas' example. If Cas was comfortable with this, not looking at and identifying each and every one of Dean's flaws, then perhaps he should give him the benefit of the doubt and not do that himself.

“Clearly you have become accustomed to the farmer's market, Dean. I recognize this honey-glazed ham,”

Dean nodded in agreement, swallowing back the last of his own sandwich and licking his fingers, finding himself freezing mid-lick as Cas' eyes dropped to follow the movement. “Yeah,” he managed, throat a little tight, "yeah, Sam's been—Sam really likes it and I've been picking some stuff up while they're at work, so..."

Cas smiled again, taking a sip from the bottle Dean had handed him and tilting his head back to look up at the stars. Cas quietly asked after Sam and Jess, making Dean's smile curl a little in affection at him taking the time to mention them.

"I know this is kinda schmoopy," Dean blurted a little later as though it was a random thought when it was anything but, still trying to find an adequate way to make up for what was probably the worst date idea anyone had ever had. Cas stopped him by leaning to his side until their shoulders bumped together, raising one eyebrow as he leaned in a fraction closer still.

“It is perfect. We could have done absolutely anything together and it would have been perfect. Although I dislike the word schmoop; Claire uses it far too often,"

Dean let the hesitance he was feeling fade in his chest and be replaced with a burst of laughter. “She does, huh?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded, leaning a little more with his eyes fixed on Dean's, “usually of late, I should add, when she is referring to us,”

“We're ridiculously cute and sappy?” Dean laughed a little harder, his heart giving a little thud at the grin on Cas' face as he turned into him even more.

“Apparently so,”

“I—I don't mind being cute with you, Cas,” Dean stumbled, wondering if he was sounding stupid, or just too much. Cas' smile widened, and he turned more fully then to cup Dean's face in his hands, dragging him in for a kiss.

Somehow, and Dean wasn't exactly sure on the details, he found himself pressing Cas firmly back against the windscreen and pinning him in place with the weight of his own chest, this make out session turning from something that was fairly innocent to start with into one where they were rutting against each other and letting out the kind of moans that should probably not be made in such a public place. Not that either of them cared; Cas' fingers snuck their way beneath Dean's jacket and even beneath his shirt; Dean flinched for a second at the thought of Cas feeling the scars there, but whatever Cas was feeling he clearly didn't seem to object to, judging by the hardness pressing into Dean's thigh that left him fighting back a groan at feeling himself.

A light shining in their eyes followed by a holler of what sounded a lot like encouragement eventually pulled them apart, with Cas shifting back and staring a little blearily at the headlights of a car turning around near the Impala then spinning away again, the hoots and hollers continuing as they both turned to watch the car disappear.

“Uh,” Dean stumbled out, tensing up a little and wondering if Cas was pulling away out of embarrassment, not wanting to be seen with him.

“I think perhaps they approved,” Cas said drily, grinning and shifting to slide off of the hood. Dean watched in silence as Cas reached out and wrapped his hand around Dean's calf, lightly pulling on it. Dean took the hint and slowly inched himself down the hood until he was sat with Cas stood between his legs. The second Dean's thighs hit against Cas' hips he hummed sounding pleased, sliding his hands up and over Dean's jacket before settling in a loose loop around his neck as he leaned up to kiss him all over again.

Dean responded, first with hesitance and then with more enthusiasm as Cas opened up the kiss, rolled his hips into the gap between Dean's legs humming in approval the entire time. Dean slipped a little where he sat from attempting to get even closer to him, giving a soft groan of his own when Cas pushed right back and kept him wedged there in place by leaning back even more insistently between his legs.

“Dean,” Cas murmured against Dean's ear making him jolt, and then again when his lips hit Dean's neck and began mouthing along there, “if this is your idea of dessert—”

“Damn,”

Tearing his mouth away from Cas' leaving him stuttering forward, Dean shifted back, his heart giving a little skip at the disgruntled look on Cas' face. He leaned down to give him another this time placating kiss and wrapped his hand around Cas' arm for support to reach over and drag out another package to hand to him.

"This is—remember that guy at the fayre—course you do, you love the honey there—"

“This is his honey cake?” Cas was already half unwrapping the paper and sounding excited about what was inside it, which Dean thoroughly approved of; if he himself could show such enthusiasm for pie, that Cas could do the same for cake was surely a very good sign of compatibility.

“Yeah. Thought you'd like to try some,”

“Thank you,” Cas' glance up then was earnest, far too earnest to be making Dean's heart skip yet again in happiness the way it was, but there was little he could do about that. They ate the cake quickly, still with Dean balanced precariously on the edge of the hood by Cas leaning back against him and keeping him in place, with Dean sucking in a breath he tried to disguise when Cas licked his fingers clean.

Cas slowed, one finger an inch from his mouth as he glanced up at Dean, and despite the limited lighting Dean would swear he could see Cas' pupils dilate. As though experimenting, Cas slowly darted out his tongue over his finger again, and when Dean gave another intake of breath Cas grinned, leaning forward and claiming a honey-tainted kiss.

“I—Uh—you know—maybe we should walk- like- like I said. 'Cos if we don't—”

Cas cut Dean's stutter off with another, more insistent kiss, then pulled away, his hands dropping to Dean's hips to guide him to his feet before tangling their fingers together and grinning. “Lead the way,”

The docks were not vast by any means, but Dean found that the soft lights shimmering on the water's surface coupled with the gentle breeze and the overall peace there were exactly what he wanted for this evening. They walked, hand in hand pausing occasionally to look at something which more often than it didn't lead to them stopping for longer to kiss. Dean felt giddy, nervous and excited, all at the same time, unable to keep himself from smiling with Cas there by his side.

“This is good, Dean,”

Dean looked over to Cas with a wryly risen eyebrow and cautious smile. “Oh yeah?”

“Yes,”

"Good as in 'I'm surprised it's not awful' or 'it could be better' or 'actually this is pretty sucky but I'm tryna be polite about it?'"

The rumble of Cas' voice tinged with an undercurrent of exasperation was Dean's first clue that he didn't approve of his words. His second was the way Cas dropped his hand, raised it to grip around his arm just above his elbow to turn him in so that he could lean in and kiss him, hard, backing him up until he was against the wooden railings surrounding the edge of the docks. Cas' hands were still in a firm grip around his upper arms that said he wouldn't let him fall back into the water below them; the strength there surged a wave of arousal through Dean that he felt sure Cas would be able to feel from just how firmly pressed together they were.

“For what I hope is the last time,” Cas mumbled, leaning back just enough for his breath to be ghosting warm over Dean's lips as he spoke, “I am enjoying our date, Dean. I am enjoying being here with you, and I am hoping that there will be many more such evenings between us,”

When Cas straightened himself up enough so that Dean was no longer leaning back, Dean dropped his head forward onto Cas' shoulder with a groan. "Man I'm sorry. I—I'm kinda—guess I'm kinda nervous I might get something wrong here,"

“Dean,” Cas sighed, sliding his fingers through Dean's hair soft enough to make him shiver, “I would like to think that even before we started _this_ , that you and I, we were- we were becoming friends. Were already friends,”

One heavy thud of his heart and Dean was wrapping his arms around Cas, gathering him a little closer despite the railing digging into his lower back. “Course we were. _Are_. Are,”

“Then,” Cas reasoned leaning in to glance their lips together before kissing him again, “I would ask that you trust me when I say that I am happy. That there is—no reason to be second guessing here. I am here, I want to be here, and as far as I can tell, you want to be here as well,”

With a rapid nod of his head, Dean cursed himself for letting doubt to creep up in him again. “I do. Honest I do, Cas, it's just—you—the other day, when you took me out—it was kinda perfect, you know?”

Dean felt his entire being sag under the weight of his own words, kept his eyes firmly down away from Cas' because he felt too ashamed to lift them. What Cas must think of him for being so very insecure, so needing of reassurance, so incapable of even arranging a simple date?

“How is this any less perfect?”

At the gentleness in Cas' voice, Dean found the courage to look up, finding Cas' smile warm and encouraging. When their eyes met Cas' smile twitched a fraction wider, with Dean helpless but to answer it. Dean's wavering courage throughout the evening seemed to even out once more, allowing him to kiss back with renewed firmness before lacing their fingers together again and guiding Cas along to show him the view.

* * *

When Dean got back to Sam's later that night, he allowed himself to believe that he and Cas might actually have a shot at something good. It was difficult, shouting down the wall of voices telling him he didn't have the right to have anything good in his existence, but the lingering taste of Cas on his lips and a multitude of freshly made memories gave Dean the strength he needed to push the voices away, hold them back long enough to allow himself to hope.

With determination and a twist in his gut of what he decided was somewhere between embarrassment and anticipation, Dean walked into the ensuite of his room and turned on all the lights, making it bright enough for him to momentarily wince. When his eyes had adjusted Dean positioned himself in front of the longest mirror and studied his expression, watching the warring emotions dancing across his face and then dropping his gaze to the way his fists were in tight curls down by his sides.

A nod to himself and Dean was stripping out of his clothes, watching in the mirror the entire time as more and more of his damaged skin was revealed, until he was stood there completely naked forcing himself to keep looking. He'd gotten used to the texture of it from repeatedly applying cream, gently washing and drying himself for all this time since the fire. But the sight of it still frequently caught him unawares, and probably, Dean thought, would do for quite a while longer yet.

Dean turned, glancing over his back, eyes taking in every single burn and blemish, fingers flexing with the urge to trace over lingering scars there from before the fire, and denying the memories of their origin the chance to surface. Squaring his shoulders Dean turned back yet again, fully facing the mirror. He was still himself in there, he realised, seeing his own surprise register on his face for a second. Beneath the mass of scarring that was still his body, still his familiar shape and build that he kept through the exercises he forced himself through to aid his recovery. Still his face, thankfully unscarred; for a moment Dean blanched at his vanity then forced that taunting away as well, glad that what had felt like permanent redness to his face like bad sunburn for the first few days after the fire had faded away to his normal complexion.

When Dean had looked what he felt was long enough, he looked for more. Tried to imagine Cas' eyes lingering over his body and what they might be seeing as they did. Hoped he could see past all of that scarring and see him as he had just done. Felt a jolt of arousal so hard it made his stomach clench at the thought of feeling Cas' hands trailing over him. And of course, as so many thoughts of Cas did to him already, Dean felt himself hardening. Let his eyes linger down in the mirror to his cock to confirm it.

Snorting to himself Dean flexed his fingers down by his side, watching in the mirror as they moved with obvious hesitation first to stroke in an exploration over his length that flared heat through him, then wrapped their way around him in a light grip. Dean watched, with one hand pressed against the wall beside the mirror as he stroked himself, caught the ripples of pleasure over his own face as he did.

Further determination had Dean giving himself one firmer grip then leaving the ensuite, turning on all the lights in the bedroom and laying himself out on the bed. Dean had an idle thought that he wished he had some lube around to slick himself up a little, but that near-painful heat now pressing hard down on his gut told him he wouldn't be doing what he was intent on doing for very long.

Another breath for bravery and Dean was shifting pillows beneath his head to tilt up so he could comfortably watch. Then, with a thrill jolting through him that this time wasn't laced with fear, Dean took himself in his hand again, letting his legs fall further apart as a wave of pleasure rolled itself right through him. Dean watched, eyes on the slip of his cock between his fingers and the flood of precum that he swept up on his palm and groaned at the feeling of in his grip. One swipe of his thumb over his cock head had Dean blasting out a gasp of breath and straining against the bed, knowing it wasn't going to take him very much longer at all.

Eyes focused firmly on his hand, Dean fisted himself increasingly faster, his gasps and soft moans a continual sound he did his best to keep low in fear of alerting Sam and Jess to what he was doing. The tightness built in him, the heat became so much, and Dean had seconds to observe the way his chest rose and fell rapid with anticipation before he was tensing up, coming so hard it felt like his orgasm was tearing its way out of him, splattering his chest in so much come that for a couple of seconds he could pretend he couldn't see the scarring beneath it.

Dean's head fell back into his pillow in exhaustion, an ache in his arm from a repeated action he hadn't done for so long. With a grin to himself at how stupid that sounded even in his own head Dean took a glance down at the mess he'd made of himself then let out a tired laugh, thinking belatedly he should have grabbed a wad of tissues with him when he'd decided to come through to do this.

An awkward slide from the bed and a hasty wipe down with a t-shirt he normally wore to bed, Dean was humming to himself as he turned on the shower, and in fact all the way through it. Tucking himself in to bed a little later with a smirk on his lips and a buzz of excitement in his stomach.

* * *

 

  



	9. A casual invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

In any other situation this might feel like rushing. But as Cas reached to unnecessarily straighten out his duvet and glanced around his bedroom to make sure it was as perfect as he could make it, he wondered to himself about the sense of that, when really everything already felt so right.

Cas turned out of the room before he could start second-guessing his own positivity and gave the same sweeping surveillance to the rest of his apartment, going over a mental checklist to make sure he had everything he thought he might need. Dean would be arriving in probably the next few minutes, so any last minute alterations he had to make really would have to be very last minute. And of course this urgent sense of having to be overly prepared was going to prove itself unnecessary the second he saw Dean's face, when all his nervousness would evaporate like it had never been there in the first place. Cas sighed to himself, shaking a head that nobody was there to see, and closed his eyes.

It had only been a couple of weeks, this very new but somehow overdue development between he and Dean. But they had slotted together so very naturally that not a part of it felt forced or out of place. Which was probably how he'd ended up casually asking Dean to come over for dinner and stay the night when he'd dropped him home yesterday evening, with Dean insisting on taking him because it had been raining earlier in the day as though either of them needed any excuse to spend a few extra minutes together.

At the time, he hadn't implicitly implied anything by it, not wanting to assume anything because those couple of weeks in, and he and Dean had yet to do much more than kiss. Of course that didn't mean he hadn't been thinking about them being together in all manner of ways, fairly frequently and since long before Dean had given him any reason to think he wouldn't object to such things between them. Come to think of it, Cas sighed to himself then, now stroking a hand along the back of the couch and straightening up a cushion, there was no sense of rushing about this at all; an increase in the intimacy between he and Dean suddenly felt long overdue.

Doubt launched itself at Cas, leaving him arguing with his stomach about the way it was coiling up with nerves. Was he right to assume Dean would want to share a bed with him in whatever way that might end up being? Should he have made the spare bed up instead? Was he presuming too much by ensuring certain supplies were within reach, discreetly in a drawer and out of sight but to hand just in case? Was he even right to even consider that Dean might be just as ready as him for anything more to happen between them?

Cas slumped down on to the couch in defeat covering his eyes with his hand, grumbling to himself out loud. This was the problem with second-guessing yourself and over thinking, he told himself, very different images now attacking him of Balt surrounded by boxes then leaving Cas stranded and purposeless in his departure. Immediately Cas cursed for that as well and denied the emotions he'd felt at the time to work their way back in, reminding himself that both the people and situations were very, very different.

 _Dean_ was different, Cas thought as he sank down further into the comfort of the couch, a tiny smile beginning to curl up the corners of his mouth. He found his mind going over their two actual dates and what had to be a dozen simpler things between them, and that grin just kept on growing.

Dean's nerves when he'd taken Cas for that moonlit picnic were both heartbreaking and endearing to see, with Cas letting out an audible sigh at the memory of being pressed back hard against the windscreen and stubble grazing at his neck. And that Dean would doubt his appreciation of a date idea that was beyond endearing was enough to make Cas actually chuckle, though that faded away into a sigh of sadness for Dean not being able to see how incredible he was just as he was, leaving Cas with the urge to wrap him up in his arms and hold him until all of his self-doubt was squeezed out.

Okay, Cas conceded to himself then, his shifting becoming more of the unconscious wriggling he found himself doing whenever he allowed his thoughts of Dean to drift. So some of those thoughts of wrapping his arms around Dean were steeped in his own personal need, and want, more than they were about bringing Dean any kind of comfort. But he was, after all, not stupid; if someone as amazing as Dean would see fit to turn their attention his way then he was going to accept all of it, rein his own sad memories in, and make of it all he could.

Chiding himself with a soft groan, Cas glanced at the time on his phone with a grimace, both pleading with Dean to hurry up and arrive to save him from this constant introspection, and fearing his arrival because of all that may or may not bring.

A physical jolt accompanied with a hard thud of his heart had Cas stumbling to his feet the moment the intercom rang. He all but ran across the room to press the buzzer, and debated turning away again, pretending he was in the middle of something and having to delay his return to the door once Dean finally knocked. But who was he kidding, Cas laughed, swinging the door open wide and teetering in anticipation on the threshold, staring the elevator down until the light announcing its arrival came to a pulsing stop.

Cas' breath clogged in his throat as the doors drew back, with Dean stepping out and his face splitting into an instant smile the second he saw Cas there waiting for him. His pace quickened and before Cas could do anything more than grin back in answer Dean was reaching for him, cupping his face, claiming a kiss, and backing him into the apartment. More than happy with that outcome Cas hummed against Dean's lips, feeling them curl against his own as Cas reached out to shove the door shut behind them, slide Dean's holdall off his shoulder to discard it by their feet, and press Dean bodily back against the door.

Dean's hum of approval was accompanied by his hands gripping hard around Cas' ass, pulling him tighter to him and rolling his own hips a little to meet Cas'. Okay, Cas had a second to think, perhaps their _only kissing_ had involved quite a bit of this kind of thing as well; it didn't mean he wasn't left wanting even more of Dean. Cas answered Dean's hum with a deep groan, forcing his fingers in the gap between the door and Dean's own ass and shoving his fingers deep into his jean pockets.

“Well hello to you too, Cas,” Dean grinned a few moments later, winking at him as he straightened up a touch to loop his arms low around Cas' waist.

“I believe you started this—hello, Dean,”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, sucking his swollen lip into his mouth as his eyes drifted down to Cas' mouth “yeah, I did,” One further second of pause and Cas was surging forward, nudging Dean's lips apart with his own and quickly darting his tongue into his mouth. Dean sagged with a soft moan blasting out of his mouth; Cas might have found that the most arousing reaction possible, and grinded up against him a little more insistently in response until he could feel Dean trembling.

“You really don't need to look quite so pleased with yourself, Cas,” Dean's hushed, choked reply and dilated pupils told Cas an entirely different story, however; Cas stepped back feeling a surge of triumph rush through him, reached to tangle their fingers together, scooping up Dean's bag over his shoulder to drop it once more by the side of the couch and nudge against Dean to sit down.

“I do,” Cas argued in quiet confidence, leaning down over Dean once he was seated and kissing him again. “And I confess—when I invited you for dinner I had hoped to actually prepare something for us to eat, but I have been so... distracted: if you have no objections we could perhaps order in?”

Dean's fingers reached out and grabbed a fistful of Cas' shirt, dragging him down to straddle his lap and kissing him all over again, the roll of his hips brushing their growing arousal together and forcing out stuttered moans from them both.

“No objections whatsoever,” Dean managed to stumble out in between their kisses, his fingers out and up the back of Cas' shirt, a burst of breath against Cas' lips at the feel of his skin beneath his palms.

“We can order whenever you are ready,” though Cas knew that despite his offer, if they didn't stop and order something right then, things were going to escalate fairly quickly, and despite him wanting that more than anything he also wanted to hold back a little, savour this moment for what it was, for as long as possible.

“Now,” Dean interrupted with a thrust up against him, “'cos if we don't we're gonna—”

“Agreed,” Cas mumbled, then ducked down to mouth along Dean's neck, darting his tongue out when Dean turned his head to the side to give him better access.

“I'll stop if you stop,” Dean suggested, though it sounded like it was the furthest thought from his mind. Cas smiled against Dean's neck, nipped there a little before pulling back, feeling himself harden more at the expression on Dean's face as he grinned back at him.

“You know, Dean. You make it nearly impossible for me to do anything else,”

A confident smirk was Dean's only answer, his warm palms running up over Cas' thighs, the light brush of his thumb over his straining fly that had Cas sucking in a breath and fighting the urge to take back the idea of waiting and strip Dean there and then. Cas leaned over him, knocking his upper lip against Dean's to get him to tilt his head back a little then licked his way into Dean's mouth, swallowing his groan as he did.

Shifting on Dean's lap, Cas curved back enough so he could sneak his fingertips under the front edge of Dean's shirt. He stroked over the denim of jeans and the leather of belt without interruption; but when his fingers reached the intended target of Dean's skin, that flesh turned rigid, tensing beneath him.

The uncertainty in Dean's eyes when Cas pulled back had his stomach drop, and Dean's earlier though vague comments about him being scarred played back to him. He'd been curious about what the scars would look like of course, because that was only natural, but Cas couldn't find any reason why seeing Dean's would make him less interested in him. The renewed anger Cas felt for not having the right words to say for any situation, least of all ones as important as this one they were in, had bile rising in his throat.

Cas' frown at himself was caught by Dean, however, who of course seemed to interpret it was one that was meant against him. With dismay, Cas felt Dean shifting beneath him, straightening up as though to get away, despite Cas being straddled on his lap. Desperate to make Dean understand, Cas rapidly curled himself over him and kissed him hard. Dean returned the kiss at first reluctantly, and then with something that felt a lot like tentative hope, clutching his fingers around Cas' thighs in a press that seemed to plead with him to stay put. Which was of course exactly what Cas intended anyway so there was little objection going to be heard from him.

Cas smiled against Dean's lips, slipping his fingers back out from under Dean's t-shirt and sliding up the front of it, snagging under his plaid shirt instead. Hooking his thumbs around it and pushing gently in the direction of Dean's shoulders, Cas insinuated he wanted the shirt off, though continuing to kiss him as he did to ease him in to the idea. When Dean paused this time Cas kissed him a little more insistently, dropping the grip of one hand to wrap around Dean's neck, pull him forward, sit him upright.

With a slow, lingering kiss, Cas pushed at Dean's shirt once again, sitting back enough for Dean to have room to ease his arms out of it then taking it from Dean's uncertain fingers and discarding it over the arm of the couch. Dean's breath caught; Cas kept up his unrelenting kisses until he felt Dean calm a touch, and hummed against him in reward. Wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, Cas felt the the back of his hair tickling his forearms as he crossed them there and smiled against his lips, not taking the kiss any further but not letting up from it either.

When Cas was as certain as he could be that Dean had relaxed, he dropped his palms to Dean's shoulders, purposely sliding his way down Dean's arms, feeling the scarring but moving over it without reacting. He slotted their fingers together for a moment then dropped them again, gripping lightly around Dean's waist and hooking his thumbs under the t-shirt hem until he felt Dean's stomach ripple beneath them.

Another pause, another moment to wait; Cas twisted his hands around until all of his fingers were flat against Dean's stomach then pushed up, up, hooking the t-shirt edges with his thumbs until his palms were grazing over ribs, and nipples, fingertips brushing over collarbone. Cas waited for Dean to make the next move, feeling his heartbeat fluttering delicately beneath his palm. And in a gesture that showed such trust Cas felt elated by it, Dean slowly raised his arms to allow Cas to lift the t-shirt up and over his head, draping that there to the side as well.

Cas sat back, taking in the expression on Dean's face that was part fear, part self-loathing, part terrified. Cas dropped his gaze, first to linger over the bulge in Dean's jeans with a smirk then raising up slowly. In his mind, Cas pushed aside his first reaction to seeing Dean's scarring, because wrapping his arms around him protectively was not what he thought Dean really needed from him right now.

Instead, Cas reached out to lightly graze his fingers over angry red whorls and swirls of flesh, puckered in some places and ridged in others. He wouldn't do Dean the disservice of calling the scarring anything like _beautiful_ , because he very much doubted Dean would welcome that, or even believe it, at least not now, not yet, not with it being so raw for him. But already Cas could imagine absently tracing patterns there in sleepy sunlight, of being around Dean long enough to watch that angry rawness fade.

Dean sat perfectly still, and beneath Cas' fingers it felt as though Dean was afraid to even breathe. Smiling warmly to encourage him, Cas continued his gentle caress over Dean's chest, aware that the flesh might still be so very sensitive, until he grazed over his nipples and Dean sucked in a breath, then leaned down for a lingering kiss. Slowly circling his hips, Cas moved until they began bumping together through their jeans, sending small sparks of arousal through them both; and that seemed to unstick Dean from his rigidness enough for him to wrap his arms around Cas waist and pull him closer still.

Dean's kiss now felt full of gratitude, of acceptance, of allowing himself to want, and as he kissed back with new fervour it was getting harder and harder for Cas to break away from him to suggest that break to eat first. Especially when Dean's hands shifted to grip around Cas' hips and he found himself on his back against the couch cushions with Dean leaning over him and knelt between his legs; though seeing his face pinch up into a slight wince had Cas freezing up.

“S fine,” Dean's dismissal of Cas' attempted question had them both pausing for a second; Dean shifted himself a little again and the frown of discomfort dropped. “It's—I'm— skin's still a little raw, you know? Sometimes—sometimes everything hurts, or I get these stupid shoots of pain—”

Cas silenced Dean by angling his head up to kiss him, hands stroking down the texture of tortured skin already feeling familiar to him. “If we have to wait—”

“No,” Dean adamantly shaking his head and swallowing thickly as he stared down at Cas had him torn; the want he felt coursing through him warred with his urge to take care of Dean, to not do anything that would cause him any further amount of hurt.

“No,” Dean repeated, clearing his throat, “No, I want this— _more —_I mean. I wanna—I wanna _do_ more... want _you_ , Cas...”

Sliding his hands down over Dean's ass so he could roll up against him and show just how much he wanted Dean back, Cas nodded, swallowed, looked back at him with intent, and forced himself to wait.

“I mean—I don't know if this is too quick for you, or—or we're—if it's—I—”

“This does not feel sudden—”

“And—I know I—I've got some stuff to work through—”

“Dean,” Cas watched Dean's eyes flutter closed as he dug his fingers into his ass again and rolled up against him more insistently.

“Plus, you know—I'm usually _way_ more smooth than this,” Dean added, breaking into a self-deprecating grin as he settled himself more comfortably on his knees and bent down to nuzzle into Cas' neck.

“I would say getting me on my back without any warning would still be considered to be fairly smooth, Dean,” And if Cas felt himself stirring stiffly at the belated realization Dean had literally just flipped him over with minimum effort, he felt no one would blame him for it.

Dean's grin twitched a fraction wider and confidence crept back across his shoulders, with Dean bending again for another kiss in time with a slow stirring of his hips. “Feels like you like that idea, Cas,”

“It is very possible,”

“How possible's _possible_?”

“Since the moment you told me that you were a firefighter I have been indulging in several detailed fantasies about being rescued from burning buildings or you wearing your work clothes and little else,” Cas found himself blurting out, his eyes growing wide in alarm in case those words would do anything like offend, or upset Dean. The look of intent that slowly settled on Dean's face and the way he glanced his lips over Cas' in a teasing kiss reassured him, however, as did the way Dean seemed to melt against him as he relaxed further still.

“Been fantasizing about me, have you, Cas?” Dean mumbled against his ear, making Cas shudder and his heart quicken.

“Yes,”

“When you—”

“ _Yes_ ,”

“Fuck,” Dean stuttered, claiming a desperate kiss all over again, “that's—that's so hot,” and dinner was then further delayed by another half an hour or so of frantic making out, grinding into one another and bruising lips, pulling back only for the briefest of moments to regain breath before starting up all over again.

Cas' phone vibrating against his hip was the thing that finally gave them reason to slow, with Dean sitting up to give space to Cas to do the same. Cas winced in apology, cursing himself for forgetting to silence his phone, sliding it out of his pocket and glancing down at the screen to glare at it as though the phone itself was at fault. Meg's name flashed up, and the string of emoticons in the message preview were enough to tell him of its contents; he turned the phone for Dean to look and loved watching the way he burst out into laughter on seeing it.

“Guess she knows I'm here, huh?”

“I may have—Meg has an unfortunate habit of letting herself in unannounced. Most of the time it is not a problem, however—”

“You didn't want any interruptions,” Dean finished for him with a wicked, gleeful smirk; Cas felt himself color.

“I did not,”

“Well, since we're upright and all,” Dean said, leaning in to kiss him again, nuzzling against Cas' cheek before sitting back, “maybe—maybe we should order something now 'fore we.... before we get carried away again,”

“And perhaps have something to drink; I apologize, Dean, I am a terrible host,”

The snort Dean gave as he reached out and pulled Cas into a half hug before releasing him was small, but enough to have Cas grinning all over again. “Think what you've given me so far 's more than made up for it,”

* * *

Dinner was eaten civilly at the dining table, because both of them knew if they didn't move from the couch they'd probably be too distracted by, and with each other. The pause seemed to soften the edges of desire in them, and when they sat down afterward with full stomachs and beers to hand, everything became more gentle. Slow, exploratory kisses, Cas losing his shirt too so that fingers could trail patterns over them both, small smiles that showed each other just how very happy they were to be there.

Cas felt Dean pause; pulling back a little from him he saw a hesitance cloud in over Dean's face, and tried to interpret what it meant. With shaking fingers Dean reached out, lightly stroking over the back of Cas' hand then holding it in a grip with his thumb against his palm, pulling his hand down. When his fingertips pressed light against one of the larger marks on Dean's chest, Cas raised his eyes from where they'd fallen to sweep over Dean's face, try to work out what he wanted. Dean swallowed thick, forcing Cas' eyes to drop to watch his throat for a second as he did, then pressed Cas' fingers more insistently against himself.

A flood of tenderness washed over Cas then, debating with himself for a moment before lightly wrapping his hands around Dean's hips then dropping to the floor in between Dean's legs, gently pulling until Dean knew to slump down with him. Cas settled more comfortably on his knees, then ran reassuring hands up Dean's thighs before leaned over him, pressing soft kisses across all of Dean's chest, warped by burns or not. He kissed scars, cataloged them, internally wept at the thought of the cruel hands of Dean's father marking him in such ways to still be visible despite those burns, and poured as much affection as was possible into tender kisses.

Cas looked up when Dean swallowed thickly again; his gaze still impossible for him to interpret, and for a second Cas wished that he was a mind reader instead of having to sit there and watch Dean struggle to get his words out. But it turned out no words were needed; Dean raised his hands to press on Cas' shoulders urging him to shift back then knelt in front of him and turned around, curling over the couch in front of him and fisting his fingers into the cushions, leaning his head on its side in the space between his hands.

For a moment Cas didn't understand, but then his eyes swept over the continuation of scarring over his back, arms and shoulders, as well as what had to be some kind of slashing wound from god knows where just below his right shoulder blade, and Cas was closing his eyes in grief. Cas curled himself over Dean, starting kisses at the base of his neck, determined to cover every single wound Dean had ever had inflicted on him with his lips, wishing such gentle affection could in some small way make up for it all that had happened.

Dean sighed beneath Cas' mouth, and Cas was pleased to note the way the tension slowly seeped from his shoulders leaving him pliant, wriggling back a little to get more comfortable and huffing in amusement into the cushion when he felt Cas' arousal brushing up against his ass. Cas' need for gentleness with him had grown stronger than any other feeling, however; Cas pressed a kiss into the middle of Dean's back and wrapped his arms around him for a moment from underneath, laying his head down above Dean's hip.

When he'd talked himself into it Cas slid his hands over Dean's skin again, steadying himself with his hands lightly around Dean's waist as he stood, then extended a hand to Dean who took it without even hesitating. Dean sat back on his heels, reached out to slot their other fingers together, allowing Cas to pull him to his feet and into his waiting arms.

“Will you come to bed?” Cas asked, one hand up to cup Dean's face so he could read his expression, make sure it was what he really wanted. “Only to sleep if you wish. That is—”

Dean cut Cas' words off with a soft kiss and a small nod, slotting his fingers through Cas' again and smiling. Cas stooped to pick up Dean's bag and walked him through to the bedroom, dropping it down to one side of the bed and reaching to switch on the lamp, bathing the room in a soft light he hoped would make Dean more comfortable than the brighter one of that overhead.

Cas walked Dean over to the ensuite showing him where everything was, turning his back discreetly as Dean rummaged in his holdall to pull out his toiletries bag before quietly closing the bathroom door behind him. He took the time to plug in his charger, thumb through and wince at Meg's string of messages, and straightened out the duvet yet again.

At the cleared throat to his side Cas glanced up, seeing Dean standing awkwardly in the doorway wearing just his boxers, his hands holding a neat pile of his jeans and socks. Cas stood and smiled, tilting his chin over to a chair for Dean to set them down on then lingered his hand over Dean's stomach in passing before going into the bathroom himself.

Taking a moment to smile affectionately over seeing Dean's toiletry bag neatly sat on one of his shelves, then to laugh at himself for it, Cas got himself ready for bed, stripping down to only his boxers to mirror Dean and reminded himself to push his pyjamas from beneath his pillow on to the floor when he went back into the bedroom.

He turned back into his bedroom and his breath caught; Dean perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed pulling down the leg of his boxers in a way that drew in Cas' attention. One single swirl of burn sat under Dean's fingers, while a stripe of mottled and puckered skin covered a larger patch of his other thigh. Dean raised his head, saw the direction of Cas' gaze and slumped a little.

“I honestly can't tell you how all of this happened. I—I mean I know some stuff melted down from the ceiling on me, and that the liquor kept bursting into flames and spitting stuff out, so that probably caused some of this. I know I—I know I picked up one of—one of the people up who'd just been on fire themselves to carry outside. I remember it taking a while to notice but then feeling so much radiant heat, like my skin was boiling away beneath the surface, you know? But—all this—this _mess_ , and I can't specifically tell you how I got all of it,”

“Dean,” Cas tried gently; how was there ever going to be a right thing to say about this? “You—you saved people. You—risked your life for others, to prevent others from being injured. The specifics—the most important thing is that you are here now and recovering,”

Dean nodded, his gaze falling down between his thighs. “I—if I'd have been working, maybe it would've been different, you know? I'd have been suited up with PPE and—and not have—not had my clothes melted on to my skin in places, you know? Not that you can really pick out those burns from all the other mess, right?”

“Dean,” Cas tried again, crossing the room in three quick strides and kneeling between Dean's thighs, gently wrapping his hands around just above his knees. “This—these scars—they do not change who you are. They are—a part of you but they are not—not all of you,”

With a light squeeze around Dean's knees again Cas looked up, caught Dean's attention and smiled. He held the eye contact a moment longer then leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the smallest area of burn. Dean instantly jolted, though from the rough intake of breath Cas knew it wasn't in pain.

Cas gripped a little tighter, pushing lightly on Dean's thighs so he would know to part them; Cas leaned over Dean's left leg and kissed every part of the scarring there that he could get to. Pulling back and balancing himself on his knees and the balls of his feet, Cas looked up at Dean then, catching the longing look in his eyes.

Keeping that contact for a little longer Cas then bent, pressed a kiss to Dean's kneecap, to just inside his knee, another an inch further along until Dean jolted again. Cas paused, fixed his eyes on the awkward swallow of Dean's throat then looked away again, pressing a slow insistent trail all the way up Dean's inner thigh until he was pushing his knees further apart still.

“If I'd have had skin grafts,” Dean blasted out, his words trembling as Cas stared up at him, “they'd have taken the skin from here,” he said with a trail of his thumb over his inner thigh, which Cas followed immediately with his lips, “or—or my ass,”

Smirking, Cas lingered another kiss to Dean's thigh, and as he'd been daring himself to do since he'd got down on his knees, allowed his thumb to press a long, slow slide against the bulge in Dean's boxers. Dean's sharp inhale of breath in response had Cas growing in confidence, bending to mouth over him and smiling as Dean hardened against his lips, his legs jolting apart. Feeling bolder still, Cas lifted his palms to hook his fingertips in the waistband of Dean's boxers, tugging a fraction and looking up at him for permission. Dean looked terrified but nodded anyway, bracing his hands in a curl around the edge of the bed and lifting himself up just enough for Cas to tug his boxers down.

With no hesitation now Cas was leaning forward, licking a slow stripe up Dean's shaft and lapping his tongue over his head, shifting at his own sudden hardening at Dean's broken, breathy reaction. Cas took his cock head into his mouth to suck a little then slid his lips down along his shaft as far as he could, closing his eyes at the weight of Dean pressing along his tongue.

Cas closed his eyes to Dean's fingers shakily reaching out to thread through the back of his hair, gripping lightly but not pushing. He dragged his lips unhurriedly down Dean's length for a couple of slides, listening to Dean's breath rattling out of him, until Cas had to shift and palm at himself for the arousal stirring in him. Dean's reaction was instant; leaning forward to wrap his fingers around just about Cas' elbows and pulling, a silent request asking him to stand up. Once up, Dean tugged down Cas' boxers without any pause, leaning forward and immediately mouthing along Cas' length before sucking him in.

Cas was helpless but to stutter forward at the heat engulfing him, arms out frantically so his hands could steady him upright on Dean's shoulders. Cas lost himself in the feel of Dean's mouth around his length, groaning as Dean wrapped his fingers around his base and lapped over him repeatedly before swallowing around him with his own pleased moan. The sight of Dean's mouth stretched around him had Cas' knees weakening, and Cas willed his hips not to roll and jolt like they urged to.

“Dean,” Cas mumbled, pressing against Dean's shoulder and asking him to pull back. When Dean looked up then he was glassy-eyed, swollen-mouthed, a sight that had Cas groaning softly to himself all over again. Cas reached down to slot his fingers through Dean's, pulling him to his feet then urging him to sit in the middle of the bed. Snatching up the bottle of lube he'd put into his bedside drawer earlier then bent to kiss his shoulder, Cas was unable to resist hooking his chin there for a second and peer down as he lightly gripped Dean's cock for a few strokes. Cas found his stomach clenching at the groan Dean answered with, and had to take himself in his hand for a second to calm the ache.

With a nudge so that he knew to part them Cas climbed on to the bed and settled himself facing Dean between his legs, his own legs hooked up over Dean's thighs so he was splayed open wide. Dean's face when he looked down at the way Cas was all but presenting himself to him was nothing but lustful; Cas' fingers twitched again to give himself relief but he told himself to wait.

Dropping the lube bottle for a second to glide his fingertips up over Dean's chest, Cas received a smile of encouragement followed by Dean reaching out to give a slow stroke over his cock, punching a deep rumble out of Cas at how good it felt to have Dean's hand around him. Cas' head fell back at the surge of pleasure when Dean gave him another slow pull; a moment to calm himself and Cas was slicking them both up, taking a little longer on Dean just because he could. He leaned forward, licking into Dean's mouth where he thrust his tongue in for every stroke he gave him. And in a messy tangle they worked themselves, worked each other, worked each other together, slick and slippery and heated, perfectly, leisurely, and in no hurry at all.

Through frequent glances down at each other, mumbles of encouragement that resulted in further groans showing just how good they felt, Cas kept one hand around the nape of Dean's neck, feeling it right to anchor himself to him. After a particularly teasing swipe of his thumb over Dean's cock head Cas watched as Dean gave a low, shuddering whimper then reached back to grab hold of Cas' fingers, dropping them down against Cas' knee and twisting so they were holding hands. And with that Dean shuffled himself a little more forward, wrapping his hand tighter around them both and setting up a firmer, faster pace. Cas reached down to slot his fingers in the gaps between Dean's, chasing a kiss that they stuttered in and out of as waves of pleasure coursed through them and interrupted it. Another few strokes and Cas was coming, fighting against throwing his head back so he could keep his eyes greedily on Dean for the final few strokes before he was coming as well.

Dean dropped his forehead against Cas' and they sat for a few moments with idle kisses as their breathing evened out, still holding hands. Then Cas was getting unsteadily to his feet and pulling Dean with him into the shower cubicle to clean them both off. They kissed lazily there under the spray of the shower, until Dean grinned sleepily against Cas' lips and he leaned to shut the water off.

Dean hesitated when Cas reached out with a towel to dry him, dropping his eyes apologetically to his own chest so that Cas would follow his gaze. “It—sometimes it's really sensitive still, you know? And drying it can be—it's just better if I do it, you know—for now at least... uh—”

Cas instead handed the towel over and pressed a kiss to Dean's cheek, reaching for his own towel and drying himself off as he watched Dean do the same, letting his eyes linger where he itched to touch himself.

“Do you have treatment for it? I only meant—I—”

“I put this cream on before I sleep and when I get up,” Dean said with a turn and stretch to drag a small tube from his bag.

Cas nodded at the tube and leaned in to kiss him again. “I can do the back ones if you want me to,”

he offered, then worried that it was a step too far, wishing yet again to know what was the right thing to do. Dean stared back at him for what felt like far too long before he slipped the tube into Cas' hand and turned away from him. Cas let out the breath he'd been holding and unscrewed the cap, pausing quickly to read the instructions and applying a liberal amount of the cream as delicately as he could before pressing a kiss into Dean's shoulder to tell him he was done.

Dean turned, his smile grateful as he ducked for another kiss. “I'm gonna finish up—is it okay if I come and join you in a few minutes? I just—it'll need a few minutes to dry is all and—”

“Whenever you are ready,” Cas pressed a chaste kiss to Dean's lips then left the bathroom, questioning his actions and hoping he'd not overstepped any marks or done anything to offend him. He slid beneath the duvet but sat rigidly upright, attempting to look patient but feeling anything but. When Dean turned into the room the few minutes later he'd promised Cas found himself sagging with relief that he didn't look like he intended on leaving.

Cas watched in silence as Dean moved around to his side of the bed, shyly flicked back the duvet and easing himself in, laying down and turning on to his side, smiling when Cas mirrored him.

“I—I hope I don't wake you with—you know,” Dean began, apology in his voice that Cas rolled forward instantly at to kiss away, with Dean immediately tangling their fingers together again.

“I don't care,” Cas said with an adamant shake of his head, hoping he'd know what to do should Dean wake with a nightmare whilst in his bed.

“And,” Dean continued, looking regretful,, “I'll—I wanna sleep with you, Cas, like this. Like—you know—”

“It may hurt your skin if we lay together without something between us?” Cas guessed, forcing himself to keep the disappointment from his voice and telling himself not to be so selfish. He'd lost probably hours to the thought of falling asleep in Dean's arms, or having his arms wrapped around him. Dean nodded and with a regretful drop of his shoulders sat back up and shrugged into the t-shirt he'd screwed up in his hand out of Cas' sight.

“I think,” Dean began, leaning forward for a kiss, “I think—if—there's not so much scarring on my back, so maybe if I sleep on my side and—and you're behind me—I mean... you'd don't have to touch... I'd understand if—”

Dean's voice trailed away, or was rather swallowed up by Cas' kiss, intense with Cas' desperation to take away any doubts Dean might be having about how much he wanted to curl up around him. When Dean pulled back he gave him another shy smile then shifted, turning away from Cas and bringing his knees up so that he was laid almost fetal-like. Cas turned out the light and shuffled closer, closing his eyes at the feel of his stomach pressing against Dean's back. He reached out, wrapping a hand to tuck in just behind Dean's knee and slotted himself up behind him, pressing a kiss to the back of Dean's head with a smile.

They talked late into the night laid together like that, comforted enough by the darkness to reveal the few things they hadn't already shared with one another until a restful sleep came to claim them both.

* * *

 

  
  



	10. Not so hidden talents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

“Hey. Looking for a guy,”

Dean winced at the voice even from where he was stood drying his hands and knew Cas was grinning—even if he couldn't see his face from where he was.

“'bout yay high, always scowling, drives a big ass black car he's _way_ too attached to. Last seen in my kitchen, oh, I don't know. Two, three days ago now?”

Dean heard a chuckle erupt from Cas before Sam could even finish his words, and one blasted out of Sam moments later when Dean stuck his head around the doorway in the Tea Tales kitchen with one indignant raised eyebrow, seeing Cas sat there on his stool behind the counter and Sam standing the other side of it.

“I don't _scowl —_”

“There he is,” Sam cried with amused enthusiasm, grinning at him goofily and clapping his hands, “Just wanted to—you know. Check you still knew where you lived 's all,”

With a huff and a heat to his cheeks that told of just how hard he was blushing Dean straightened himself up in the doorway and came to stand behind Cas, smiling at the warmth of Cas leaning back to press into him.

“What's wrong, you run outta stuff to eat or something?” Dean groused out, feeling mollified by Cas leaning his head back to grin up at him.

“Well, you know,” Sam shrugged, stepping forward to lean his elbows on the counter; Cas bumped his head back against Dean once then rose fluidly to his feet and gestured at Sam to check if he wanted tea, leaving Dean with no shield but the counter top between him and all of the mirth in Sam's expression, “gotta eat,”

“Was planning on coming back tonight,” Dean tried to keep his voice neutral but whatever Sam heard there had him guffawing and slapping the counter.

“Don't strain yourself there,”

“Hey—”

“Would you like anything to eat, Sam?”

Sam and Dean turned as one to look over at Cas' calm, neutralizing voice, both of them smiling affectionately but in entirely different ways.

“'m good, thanks, Cas. 'specially if Dean's coming home tonight; maybe he can _cook —_”

“You should take something for dessert,” Cas suggested as an interruption, nodding towards the counter.

Dean watched in silence as Sam and Cas mumbled to each other to decide on something for them to eat later, a sense of calm in his chest that he couldn't remember having felt before. It was true; the morning after he'd first stayed at Cas' Dean had woken to Cas mouthing kisses to the back of his neck with his erection insistent against his ass, then stripping them both rapidly and pulling Dean down on top of him between his legs, writhing together hurriedly until they came. The subsequent shower took an age due to them being so lost in the exploration of each other, and breakfast took longer still; Dean had screeched to a halt to get Cas to Tea Tales only to be met by an amused-looking Claire standing outside of it with bags of shopping down by her feet and her arms folded tight across her chest, a wicked grin firmly on her face. Dean assumed that had a lot to do with the influence of Meg on the occasions she helped out in the cafe; she'd probably be proud of her protege, Dean thought to himself with a wince at the reminder of Claire's cackle when Cas had eventually fumbled with his keys enough to let them all in.

Dean had then driven back to Sam's, feeling ridiculous in its silence, killing time until Cas' message invited him to come and stay again that night. And last night he'd stayed over at Cas' yet again even though there'd not really been the intention of that happening—at least, not one spoken out loud, the two of them having got far too lost in each other for Dean to be able to wrench himself from Cas' bed.

Thoughts of _being_ with Cas took all of Dean's attention for a moment, memories of the trails of Cas' hands and mouth over him, and how Cas allowed Dean to touch him in the same ways in turn left Dean feel _good_ and _whole_ in ways he didn't really know how to describe. He was lost in Cas; more than happy to be there, and in no hurry to ever find himself a way out.

“You should come with,” Dean came back to himself with Sam's invitation to Cas, his mind already going into overdrive about what he should cook, what might be in at Sam's, if he was even ready for Cas to be interrogated by the tag team that was Sam and Jess.

“I have plans this evening. But perhaps another time,”

Dean felt a slump in his gut but kept his expression easy, nodding as though he completely approved of Cas' answer and hadn't expected to hear anything different.

Sam shrugged, easy as anything. “Jess is on lates for a couple of nights anyway. Why don't you come over in a couple of days so you can see her as well?”

“Sam—” Dean began protesting but was cut off by Cas answering.

“That would be good, thank you, Sam. Of course, if it is okay with Dean, since I imagine it will be him who is cooking?”

Dean felt his chest puff out at Cas' sort-of siding with him, glaring at the snort of laughter Sam gave them both. But he took a step forward and wrapped an easy hand around Cas' waist, smiling when he leaned into it. “Hey,” Dean said, squeezing his fingers into Cas' side, “you're always welcome. 'sides. I kinda owe you dinner by now, right?”

“Aww...” Sam's single word of teasing forced tension across Dean's shoulders but Cas smiled easily and looked back at him.

“Then I will come over soon,” Cas promised, turning into him a little.

“Well,” Sam said, his eyes sweeping between Cas and Dean in a deliberate movement, “now I know you're _alive —_”

“I guess I can... I guess I can come with,” Dean said the words but didn't feel them, reluctant to be leaving Cas' side already. He felt a little better for the pinch of Cas' lips that spoke of his own reluctance, but still felt a pang of loss that he argued with himself about being too soon.

“Meg will be here in an hour,” Cas told him drily with a _done_ roll of his eyes, “this is going to be a difficult evening, I imagine,”

“Oh?” Dean said, squeezing Cas' side again.

“It will be an interrogation, Dean. Meg's workload currently is overwhelming; I have not seen Meg in person since last week. She will have many, many questions for me, about—about us,” and Cas' voice trailed away into a groan, ending with, “it is going to be _excruciating_ ,”

Dean felt his cheeks flaring even hotter at the realization that the interrogation would likely be about him. Especially as he knew just how well Meg interrogated; Cas would likely be telling her all kinds of things without even intending to share them and that had Dean feeling like he was standing there naked. “I... I can come with if—”

“No,” and Dean laughed as Cas' eyes grew wide in alarm. “No. I have a feeling that would only make things worse,”

Dean looked over to Sam and with unspoken agreement Sam nodded and turned away, calling a soft goodbye to Cas as he turned his back. The moment Sam was heading out of the cafe Dean turned Cas in his arms to loop them low around Cas' waist, pulling him close.

“You gonna be okay?”

Cas nodded against him pressing back with a sigh. “I will be fine,”

“Message me when she's done with you?” Dean asked, not wanting to come across as needy but feeling needy all the same.

“Of course. During, probably,” Cas assured him, smiling and tilting his chin up to be kissed. Dean leaned immediately to claim that kiss, glad Sam was looking elsewhere when he deepened it up.

“I'll see you soon?” Dean asked when he forced himself to pull back, already half-planning to come into Tea Tales tomorrow if Cas was around.

“Tomorrow. If you are free. I will be here from four,”

Dean nodded, leaning in to kiss him again, smiling against him as he pulled Cas in for a hug. “See you tomorrow, Cas,”

* * *

Dean had the solace of the drive back to Sam's in his own car and a thousand different guesses trying to imagine all the things Sam might be asking him before they were pulling up outside the house and both were cutting off their engines. Sam gave him the time it took to grab his holdall from the boot of the Impala, the short walk needed to go through to the kitchen, and then Sam was turning on him, the smirk on his face pressing Dean down into a chair better than any physical force ever could.

“So,”

“No,”

“Dean,”

An adamant shake of Dean's head had Sam snorting, and Dean watched as Sam bent to the fridge to inspect the limited things festering in there, dropping his shoulders when he clearly found very little actually edible. “I'll order in?” Dean found himself asking, finding himself tinged with guilt; he'd been far too distracted the past couple of days to get in any kind of groceries and mentally began a shopping list of things to buy in the morning.

Sam gave an easy shrug as he spun back around. “S'fine. Jess is bringing pizza—”

“So why'd you—” Dean's question was cut off abruptly by the wicked grin on Sam's face.

“C'mon, Dean. Had to get you here somehow. You're holding out on me—you've... you've barely told me a _thing_ about... you know —”

“What—what do you wanna know?” Dean tried not to be on the defensive because he knew there wasn't any real need for it, but he still felt wariness in sharing something that was already so important to him. More to do with him being afraid to jinx it than not wanting to share with Sam, but that was beside the point.

“Just,” Sam shrugged, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms, “you look... you really... you look _happy_ ,”

Dean gave a slow nod, feeling all of the happiness Sam was suggesting he was seeing, and waiting to hear if there would be a _but_.

“So you and Cas,” Sam prompted, his face twisted up in glee.

“What about us?”

“Are you, uh... you know...”

“Sammy,” Dean's voice rose in embarrassment; not because there was anything to _be_ embarrassed about when it came to him and Cas, but because it had been so very, very long since there had been any reason for Sam to even have that smug look on his face.

“Hey,” Sam said, holding his hands out mock-placating, “just wanna know if we should be calling him your _boyfriend_ , or—”

“How 'bout you just call him _Cas_ , huh?” Dean laughed interrupting him, shaking his head feeling unable to stop smiling.

“Well sure,” Sam agreed with a shrug, returning to the fridge and pulling out the last two remaining beers from a shelf, grimacing as he wiped off a stray smudge of lettuce from the side of one of them, “but still. Is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Is he... you know. Is this a, uh _relationship_?”

Dean thought about that, considered if he should have asked Cas that question for himself to be sure. But the way he felt, and the ease with which they felt together, Dean realized, sitting up a little straighter as he accepted a bottle from Sam, he didn't think he needed to question it.

“It is. And uh... _he_ is,” Dean added, chewing on his lip and feeling the way it twisted up into a helpless smile.

“He is _what_?” Sam demanded, that grin just growing full wicked and leaving Dean resisting the urge to close his eyes to escape it.

“You know. _Boyfriend_ ,”

“...aww...”

* * *

“...looking _good_ ,” Dean froze a touch at the feel of Charlie leaning in and peering over his shoulder then returned his focus to the drawing in front of him again, a pencil poised between his fingers ready to work.

“Yeah?” He asked, still doubtful. He had been coming to draw in Charlie's shop for about a month now after she'd cleared a small table for him and told him to _sit there and look pretty_ , and that he might as well draw at the same time.

“You kidding me?” Charlie snorted, picking up an earlier finished piece Dean had been working on and grinning at it. “That kid that came in yesterday. Eyes out on _stalks_.”

“I—”

“You know what we should do?”

Dean winced, recognizing that unstoppable excited tone in Charlie's voice, turning himself to look at her more fully like that might help him brace himself, and shook his head slow, waiting for her to unveil whatever brainwave she was currently having.

“We should take some pictures of your stuff, stick 'em on the store website, see if we can't get you some commissions,”

Charlie hit him around the back of the head lightly at his noises of doubt and dismissal, already pacing around the store and talking about where best to take the pictures. Dean was helpless but to do as he was told; to hold things up where she told him, to argue that he was absolutely was _not_ being in the pictures himself. But when she'd finished even Dean had to agree she'd captured his drawings really well.

“So you're just gonna... shove 'em up on the site and what? Ask people for money for 'em?” Dean asked, watching as she frantically tapped away at her laptop and did whatever it was she was doing with the website.

“Duh. 'course. I'm gonna create you a profile, give you an email address here at the store so people can send you asks and stuff... it's gonna be _awesome_!”

“Uh... Charlie?” Dean objected, pointing at the email address she was creating for him and then tapping at the screen, earning himself a swipe to his stomach with the back of her hand that had him wincing and curling over. “I'm not—”

“What? You don't think _therealcaptainamerica_ works for you? Look at you with all that... I don't know... cheeks and jawline and stuff. You're so pretty,”

“Charlie—”

“What?” Charlie laughed, looking at him in fake innocence, not caring about the glow that was now all the way up Dean's neck in embarrassment, “Just 'cos I don't wanna play don't mean I can't appreciate the goods,”

Charlie squealed as the hand she'd raised to pat against Dean's cheek he took in his own hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “See? Perfect gentleman—”

“Am I to challenge you to a duel, Charlie?”

With their hands still grasped, Dean and Charlie turned as one to the amused tone of Cas' voice, apparently having entered the shop with them both being too distracted to notice him until he was actually inside.

“Is that the suitable, respectable way to fight a _queen_ for what is _mine_? I apologize for not knowing the etiquette of these things,” Cas continued as he stepped closer, his eyes wide and delighted and firmly on Dean's, making Dean's heart thud to see it.

“Hey, not gotta fight over what's already yours,” Charlie said as she pulled back her hand from Dean's grasp, looking between them both and sighing, mumbling things under her breath Dean did his best to unhear.

Charlie had demanded Cas' number that first time Dean had taken Cas with him for a board game night; there had been several days following when Dean had to fight the urge to press a kiss on the frown on Cas' forehead before helping him to decipher whatever message Charlie had sent him. But Charlie had done with Cas what she had done previously to Dean; taken him under her wing and embraced him into her circle of friends like he'd always been there. And when Dean had returned home after that first kiss with Cas, Charlie had been the first person he'd messaged. She was so happy for them both that sometimes the most inappropriate things fell out of her mouth unchecked.

This though, what she had just said for the way it lit up Cas' face was something he might even get her to repeat again sometime. “What she said,” Dean agreed as Cas stepped up to him, claiming a kiss and nuzzling against him, feeling and then mocking himself for the thought that Cas already felt like _home_.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked, leaning into him and turning just enough to look at Charlie without loosening his grip.

Charlie had already sat herself back down and got back to work. “Gonna showcase Dean's stuff on my website. See if we can earn him some cash or, you know. Just get him some attention,”

“That is a great idea,” Cas enthused, insinuating himself in the gap behind the counter uninvited and peering over Charlie's shoulder as she worked, hands grabbing to reach behind him so that Dean would wrap his own around his waist.

“C'mon—” Dean began protesting, his cheeks heating again and having to hide that with a ducked kiss to Cas' shoulder.

“You are _good_ , Dean,” Cas enthused, squeezing his fingers in the gaps between Dean's and leaning back into the warmth of his chest, “your art is beautiful. Why would you not at the very least _show_ it?”

The look Charlie slowly turned around to give Cas Dean recognized as her very own brand of approval; Dean tightened his grip on Cas a touch and hooked his chin over Cas' shoulder with a sigh, accepting defeat. Cas squeezed his fingers right back and leaned his head to the side against Dean's, nuzzling there in solidarity, though his eyes were fixed down on the screen where Charlie continued to work.

Distracted and comforted by having Cas there in his arms Dean dropped his forehead down on he back of Cas' shoulder then turned his head to kiss along his neck, smiling at the discreet hum of approval he gave in answer. With a tilt of his head to give Dean better access Cas let out another soft hum then mumbled loud enough only for Dean to here, “Stay with me tonight?”

* * *

“What's this?”

The thick notebook pressed wordlessly against his knee Dean stroked his palm over before looking up to Cas with a silent question.

“On multiple occasions you have shown me your art,” Cas began to explain, leaning across Dean's lap to gift him a soft kiss, “I thought it only fair that I share with you some of my own work.”

“Seriously?” Dean's eyes flew back down to the book in his hands in anticipation, his caress of its cover a touch more gentle. With delicate fingers he folded the book open, palms sweeping up over the pen-pressed paper with a final glance up at Cas to check that him reading this really was okay.

“I will make dinner,” Cas announced with a soft kiss to his temple. Dean watched Cas head to the kitchen for a moment then turned back to the notebook, captivated from the very first page. So engrossed he was that Dean actually startled at the feel of Cas sliding his hands around his neck from behind sometime later, and pressing a kiss to the side of it following the trail of his fingers.

“Why the hell haven't you published this?” Dean breathed pressing back against him, incredulous and disbelieving that anything that amazing wasn't already out there for the public to read. An embarrassed though wordless response from Cas pressed into his neck and Dean was reaching his arms back stiffly to give an awkward wrap around Cas to pull him in closer. “It's _good_ , Cas. I mean I've not finished it yet, obviously, but. I'm telling you; I'd read it again, ten times over,”

“Biased,” Cas kissed into Dean's hair, unhooking his fingers and walking around the edge of the couch to pull him to his feet. Dean turned the book so that it would keep open on the page he was on and pressed it against the coffee table face down, then took Cas' hands to be pulled up.

“Hey,” Dean said, leaning in to kiss him, “I'm allowed to be biased. _Boyfriend_ , remember? But even if I wasn't; it's _good_. Honestly,” and then held his breath: to Dean, Cas had been his boyfriend from day one, but neither of them had actually acknowledged that out loud. Dean had no fears that Cas might want to be seeing other people as well as him because that just wasn't how Cas was, but every now and then —like in that moment—the thought occurred to him that he was slapping a label on something that hadn't been confirmed. Cas being _Cas_ , however, just beamed at Dean oblivious to his inner confusion and wrapped his hands lightly around his waist, stepping closer and nuzzling against him before claiming a soft kiss.

“I will remember that logic the next time you argue with me about your own talents, Dean,” is all he said, tugging on Dean's fingers and dragging him over to the table. “Are you hungry?”

Dean nodded and pressed his fingers to the edge of the table, his stomach already giving a rumble at the smell of whatever Cas had cooked. That was one of many things that had settled down for Dean since he and Cas had become _them_ ; his appetite had evened out and now announced its demands at regular intervals, which combined with his ever-improving sleep patterns left Dean feeling mostly whole again. The nightmares lingered and anxiety still had Dean in an occasional grip, but much of his physical recovery was complete.

Over dinner they talked as though they had known each other for years instead of the matter of months it had really been. Talking, Dean found, was not the chore he had always known it to be when it meant talking to Cas, in fact it was quite the opposite. Conversations with Cas were so easy, so interesting, and things that were usually difficult to even form into thoughts spilled from his tongue, perhaps not with the eloquence Dean admired Cas for having, but with enough passion behind them to get his point across.

The ease between them felt so natural that most of the time, Dean was able to force the whispered doubts clambering for attention in his head. Dean slid his fingers through Cas' to walk down the street or around the grocery store without any second-guessing, and Cas thought nothing of kissing or hugging him in public as though he didn't care who was around or who saw them. Perhaps more importantly, at least to Dean, since that first night they had slept together Dean hadn't felt the slightest bit of embarrassment about Cas seeing his heavily scarred body. Cas' reaction to him each and every time they had been naked together since, be it sharing a shower or a languid exploration of each other, was nothing but full of want.

The fact that Cas made no fuss whatsoever over his scars Dean found possibly the most comforting; Cas didn't seem to see them as an addition or loss, simply as a part of him. When Dean's skin was flaring with oversensitivity and left him feeling trapped within it Cas just adjusted the pressure of his touch; on one particularly sensitive day Cas had helped him apply his cream then slotted the fingers of one of their hands together whilst slowly getting him off with his other, all with soft kisses and whispered encouragements and leaving Dean feeling like he was floating.

Cas was pretty much perfect, Dean acknowledged again then, smiling after Cas as he insisted on clearing the table despite having cooked the entire meal they'd just eaten himself. Dean continued looking in his direction, listening to the noises of Cas filling the sink, scraping plates into the trash, wiping surfaces down.

His guard down for a second, Dean found himself listening to the voices in his head whispering reminders that although there had been plenty of intimacy between them Cas didn't seem to want more—didn't really want Dean. That he was disgusted by the state that was Dean; these voices didn't win out very often but they were persistent, and instead of listening to them for even a second longer Dean stood and strode into the kitchen like he could leave them behind, wrapping his arms around Cas' waist at the sink and pressing kisses into his neck.

“Are you attempting to distract me from doing the dishes, Dean?” Cas asked, amused and leaning back against Dean's chest. Dean mouthed along his neck, slipping one hand beneath his t-shirt and pressing his fingertips up his stomach and over his chest, a teasing swipe over his nipples in turn that left Cas humming.

“Nope. Just saying thanks for dinner,” Dean said, nosing along the back of his ear and wrapping his arm firm around Cas' waist, the other sneaking lower in a circling pattern until his fingertips were ghosting along the length of his fly. Cas leaned his head against Dean's and pressed even firmer back against him, softly bucking his hips so that Dean ended up cupping him through his jeans.

“This is a very good way to say thank you, Dean,”

“You approve?” Dean asked, grinding the heel of his hand into Cas as he continued nuzzling along his ear.

“I very much approve,”

“Yeah?” Dean asked again, pulling Cas back by the hips and grinding up against him, the swell in his own jeans nudging firm against Cas' ass. Cas hummed in answer, which Dean took as invitation, and with Cas' hands trapped in the sud-filled sink Dean was free to explore. As Cas washed dishes, Dean first slid his hands more securely to grip around Cas' hips and rocked up against him then pushed his t-shirt up as far as he could, bending to kiss his way up Cas' exposed back. His hands then dropped to Cas' thighs and squeezed before sliding upwards to cup around his filling length, Dean's fingers teasing his button open then slowly sliding down his fly.

As Dean squeezed along Cas' length through his boxers Cas arched back against him; Dean raised himself enough to peer around Cas and smiled into his shoulder to see Cas' hands now gripped around the edge of the sink, the dishes abandoned. Dean nipped a path down his neck as he slid his hands around Cas' waist, pressing his fingertips into the waistband of his boxers and sliding down, one through the coarseness of his pubes and lower to cup his balls, and the other wrapped firm around the smooth hardness of his length.

Immediately Cas leaned his head back on Dean's shoulder and widened his stance a little; Dean grinned and kissed into his neck and began a languid stroke, rewarding Cas for every moan with another kiss. Dean paused to raise his fingers back up, slipping them into the waistband of Cas' boxers again and pushing them down along with his jeans to mid-thigh, hands skimming lightly over his now-exposed ass before resuming their earlier position. Cas' answering moan this time was filthier; the hand Dean had gently rolling Cas' balls he used to press Cas back against him, letting Cas feel his own length against his ass.

“Wanna let me show you some other ways I'm grateful?” Dean asked, his thumb swiping over Cas' head making him stutter and nod his head rapidly against him. Dean kissed into his shoulder then pulled Cas' jeans up enough so he could walk without tripping, then slid his fingers through Cas' and led him through to the living room. Turning Cas to face him, Dean slid his hands around Cas' ass down the back of his jeans and pushed them down, before pulling Cas to him and licking his way into Cas' mouth.

Cas' fingers snuck between them to make quick work of freezing Dean of his jeans as well, and a few seconds saw rapid removals of the rest of their clothes leaving them stood rutting together with their hands splayed wide across bare skin. Walking him backward Dean pressed until Cas was falling to the couch, with Dean crouching between his legs and sucking Cas into his mouth. Cas' groan had Dean smiling around his length, his tongue licking up the underside before he dragged his lips all the way up, the start of a lazy bobbing up and down his cock that left Dean drooling, Cas' fingers shakily reaching to cradle the back of his head, and Dean's own cock surging and seeking out its own friction.

Dean pressed his palms hard against Cas' spread thighs keeping him in place as he swallowed him down, his thumb dipping occasionally to tease a circle over his hole and each time earning himself a lustful gasp from Cas. When he pressed his thumb a little firmer there Cas whimpered and arched himself against it; Dean moaned in approval and gave a harder suck, drooling and breathing shallowly at the way Cas writhed beneath him.

“Dean,” Cas called sounding torn, his fingers gripping a little tighter through Dean's hair, trying to pull him up beside him. Dean hummed around Cas then pulled off of him with a loud, wet pop. Wrapping his fingers around Cas' length and continuing to lap his tongue over Cas' head as he was trying to speak, Dean gave a quick glance up that told him Cas' eyes were on every single lick.

“I don't know, Cas. I was kinda enjoying my dessert,” Dean teased, dropping a hand between his own legs to give himself a little relief as at his words, Cas' legs splayed open a touch wider.

“Get up here,”

Cas' growl had Dean squeezing himself hard before he could press his hands on Cas' thighs to level himself up. Before Dean could sit, however, Cas grabbed Dean's ass and pulled him forward, sucking him into his mouth and making Dean stutter forward, have to rest his hands on Cas' shoulders for support. With a wicked glance up at Dean Cas darted out his tongue over his head again then patted the couch cushion beside him, asking him to sit. The moment he was sat Cas was leaning over and kissing him, and for a little over an hour they lost themselves to exploration, smiles and kisses that proved the final silencer of Dean's earlier doubts.

Cas splayed a hand on Dean's stomach before sliding it down into a light grip around his cock, leaning back to watch Dean's face through every twist and squeeze. He continued watching, humming in approval as Dean let out a particularly loud moan.

“Dean. I want... I want to ride you, Dean. Will you let me?”

Dean ached at the thought of it and dropped his forehead down on to Cas' shoulder, his hips bucking of their own accord into Cas' grip.

“Will you? Will—”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed out, pressing a kiss to Cas' neck before pulling back to look at him, “I want that; I really want that,”

Cas rewarded him with a smile and stood, reaching out to pull Dean to his feet. Dean's hands were cupping and pulling Cas' face closer into a hungry kiss the moment he was up, which Cas smiled against then raised his own hand to press his fingers through Dean's and drag them back down, leading him to the bedroom.

The moment they were on the bed Dean kissed his way up Cas' chest until he was bracketing his face between his hands and leaning down for a long, languid kiss as he ground their cocks together with a continual roll of his hips between Cas' legs. Cas' hands trailed up his sides, one finding its way to tangle through Dean's hair, the other pressing between his shoulder blades in what felt to Dean like a claim.

“You got—” Dean began, cut off immediately by Cas shifting beneath him and reaching out for the shelf next to his bed, retrieving what looked like an unopened bottle of lube and a full box of condoms.

“It has been... a while,” Cas confessed, confirming what Dean was seeing. Dean swallowed hard and nodded, leaning in for another kiss before taking the lube from Cas' outstretched hand. Kneeling back up for a moment Dean slicked up his fingers, eyes dropping half-closed as Cas splayed his legs open a little wider for him and tilted his hips up. Dean wrapped his free hand around Cas' knee and bent to press a kiss there then slid his fingertips between his cheeks, smiling at Cas' hurried roll up against him.

“If it's been a while—and it's been a long, long while for me too, actually,” Dean said, shifting himself so he could lay down comfortably over Cas and angling for a kiss, “then let's... let's go slow, huh?”

“I want to... I want to do so many things with you, Dean,” Cas told him, his voice edged with need and making Dean stir a touch harder.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, circling a finger around Cas' hole and then pressing firm until it gave way, his finger sliding all the way in, in a slow, steady press, “like what?”

Cas gave out a small whimper as Dean flexed his finger inside him, lips parting and his eyes dropping closed as Dean began a slow pumping in and out of him. “I want... I want to be inside you too,”

Dean's heart gave a hard thud; he bent down to claim a desperate kiss and flicked his tongue between Cas' lips in time with his finger dragging in and out of him. “Yeah... yeah, I want that too.” Whatever Cas had been intending to say was lost as Dean's kiss grew more demanding, and Cas began rocking back against his hand. Dean pressed in another finger and swallowed Cas' answering grunt, urgency conquering his wish to take his time opening Cas up. Cas appeared to share that urgency, flinging his hips down and muttering encouragement for Dean to go faster, to open him wider, gasping as Dean scissored his fingers inside of him and pleading for even more.

“Now, Dean,” he demanded, gripping tightly around Dean's wrist and grinding down on his fingers, his head falling back against the pillow as another groan punched its way out of him.

“You sure?” Dean asked, but already Cas was pulling Dean's fingers from him and sitting up, urging Dean over on to his back and shakily opening the box of condoms. Dean's offer to help was bat away, with Cas grinning at him and leaning back over for a kiss then his concentration taken entirely by ripping open the condom foil and sliding the condom down over Dean's length, a slick of lube added in a hurry as Cas pushed both the box and tube to the floor and impatiently straddled Dean's thighs.

Cas knelt his way up until he was over Dean's hips, holding him by his base and positioning himself over him. Dean reached out, parting Cas' cheeks and getting a quick glimpse of his slicked up hole waiting for him, making his stomach jolt in anticipation. And with one final look at Dean Cas pressed a hand square in the middle of Dean's chest as he lowered himself on to his waiting cock, taking him all the way in with a low, rumbled groan until he was full.

Dean's hands were out immediately to stroke a greedy path up Cas' thighs, eyes fixed on Cas' face as he writhed in his lap, clearly getting himself comfortable. The tightness of Cas around him had Dean scrabbling his feet against the sheets for purchase, the heat of it flooding out through him and making him arch. Dean gripped tight around Cas' hips and angled him backward, watching himself slipping in and out of Cas as Cas impaled himself on him in slow, languid rolls as he bent forward a little to watch himself.

With a slight press of his fingers around Cas' waist Dean asked him to pause, holding him up a little higher just where he wanted and then giving slow rolls of his hips, groaning for every time he filled him. Cas' encouragement was filthy, a string of words and whimpers that surged further heat in Dean's gut and had him gripping tighter, thrusting up harder, groaning out how good Cas felt as though he couldn't believe it.

Cas fixed Dean with a look then that had him swallowing painfully, his hands slipping to Cas' thighs as Cas grinded down against him hard, Dean's breath catching as Cas grunted and closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, splaying his legs a little more and raising himself back up. Cas kept his eyes on Dean then as he began circling his hips, groaning to himself and biting down on his lower lip, his face blissful. Dean laid completely still, unable to look away as Cas alternated between rocking his hips and raising himself up just to drop back down with increasing force, punching louder moans out of himself each time.

Cas pitched forward, pinning Dean down by the shoulders and using the leverage to ride him just how he wanted, leaving Dean to call out with every roll of pleasure yet do nothing to seek it. He waited as long as he could before gripping tight around Cas' waist, parting his own knees wider, and thrusting into him from beneath. Cas cried out hard, picking up his pace, dropping himself down harder still and whimpering to himself with every thrust. Dean looked up at Cas writhing in his lap and decided that might be the most erotic thing he'd ever seen in his life, and the very thought had him driving up into him at an even tighter angle.

Cas let a long whine, wrapping his hand around his cock and beginning to strip himself furiously. Dean tried to take it all in; the look on his face, Cas' hand on himself, the way he raised himself up and down over and over but it was too much, felt too good, taking only a couple more thrusts before he was arching up and coming hard inside him. Cas cried out again at feeling it, working himself faster still before letting out a string of breathy gasps then tensing up, coming hard with a final grind down.

Cas sagged, one hand to the bed for support and the other still milking himself, ripples of pleasure rocking through him until he groaned again. Cas curled himself over Dean and briefly pressing their foreheads together before sitting back up, smiling and catching his breath. In silent agreement Dean reached out to hold himself steady as Cas pulled himself off, flopping down on the bed next to Dean face first with an exhausted huff. Dean made quick work of pulling off and tying up the condom, raising his head just enough to look for the trash can to toss it into then grabbing up some tissues to wipe himself down, throwing them in the can as well.

They rolled into each other as one, lazy kisses and tired stroking of hands, before Cas leaned in to kiss him once and nodded in the direction of the bathroom. Cas had adapted without complaint to Dean's showering routines, not once questioning the skincare he had to go through to care for his still recovering wounds. There was even a half of a shelf in the bathroom Cas had cleared for all of Dean's treatments; it was only a small gesture but Dean's breath caught every time he saw it.

Cas left Dean to finish drying himself off and apply the final layer of cream he needed for the night, and when Dean returned to the bedroom Cas was sliding a glass of water on to the cabinet on Dean's side of the bed. Watching Cas slipping into bed and settling himself with a contended hum had Dean grinning to himself, feeling his own sense of contentment and even a sense of belonging.

When Dean was sure his skin was dry enough he eagerly joined Cas, accepting the kisses peppered over his face and helpless to fight the resultant smile. With a nod to show he was ready, Dean turned over on his side, smiling harder as Cas settled himself around him from behind, a hand splayed on his stomach over his t-shirt that Dean was adamant really was a claim. Cas kept up a steady stream of kisses to the back of his head as they got comfortable, and Dean allowed himself to feel secure, and wanted right there in Cas' arms.

“Was that okay?”

The doubt in Cas' voice had Dean immediately try to shift to turn over, but Cas kept him firmly in the curl of his arm with a tight grip and a shake of his head.

“You kidding me? I haven't come that hard since... since I had a life sized poster of Indiana Jones on my bedroom wall as a kid,” Dean felt Cas grin into the back of his hair and the tension in his grip relax, and knew it was a good answer.

“I will... take that as a good sign, then,”

“You should,” Dean agreed, squeezing Cas' hand against his stomach, “Cas... you're... you're fucking hot. You know that, right?” which of course resulted in Cas making non-committal, blushy kinds of noises into the back of Dean's head.

“I am... no Indiana Jones, Dean,”

“No. You're not; you're way hotter,” Dean replied with, earning himself a kiss to the back of his neck.

“I must confess; I have never seen the appeal of Harrison Ford,” Cas mumbled then; Dean gave a huff of complaint that had Cas laughing softly into his hair.

“Dude. What? Not even as Han Solo? C'mon, man—”

“Dean. I am laying in bed with my very, _very_ attractive boyfriend,” Cas interrupted with, giving another light squeeze of Dean's fingers, “we have just had incredible sex, from which I am, I believe the term is, _fucked out_ ,”

On hearing Cas' words, sounding so very out of place coming out of his mouth, Dean erupted with a snort of laughter, squeezing hard between Cas' fingers and rocking with mirth. A hot, huffed breath blasted against his neck, followed by Cas giving a kind of disgruntled wriggle that had Dean shaking even harder with laughter at until he rolled over to kiss the pout off of Cas' face, beaming at him in utter adoration until he saw the corners of Cas' lips curl up into a smile.

Dean leaned in for another kiss, a softer, more lingering one this time, then rolled back over again and buried himself back into Cas' waiting arms, turning his head into the pillow to hide another burst of laughter before settling.

Cas gave a long, put-upon sigh that trailed off into his own huff of amusement then cleared his throat, and continued with what he had been saying in a tone that had Dean grinning for its clear indignance at being interrupted. “My very attractive, far too easily amused boyfriend, who I believe is about to fall asleep in my arms. In short; there is no space in my head to think of any other man. Even fictional ones in tight pants,”

A wave of warmth washed over Dean at Cas' words, and he listened for a few minutes as Cas settled himself ready to sleep before smiling out into the dark for a few minutes longer then falling asleep himself.

* * *

 

  
  



	11. Making Sam blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

“Make yourself useful, Sammy, and leave Cas alone,”

Cas fought back the smile threatening to erupt on his face watching Dean glare at Sam's cackle as he grabbed up the bowl from Dean's extended hand and heading out of the kitchen. Sam's exit was encouraged by a firm shove between the shoulders from Jess, who was actually no better; the look of mirth on her face as she turned back to Cas and Dean was nothing short of wicked.

The moment they were alone again Dean sagged, and Cas was helpless but to laugh, smiling in reassurance as Dean's eyes lifted to him full of apology. Cas ignored the heat to own his cheeks and the slight embarrassment he felt at Sam's less-than-subtle teasing, smiling with nothing but affection at Dean's muttered, “C'm 'ere,”

Cas let out a soft _oof_ as Dean reached out with both hands to snag and pull him flush against him, instantly wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and stretching to claim a kiss. “I can assure you,” he said, pressing himself firmly against Dean and feeling him sag, “I doubt that this...  _ordeal_... is any less than you have had to endure in the company of Meg and Gabriel,”

Dean's soft groan of embarrassment was muffled in the crook of Cas' neck, forcing another peal of laughter out of Cas' mouth. “I am so sorry—”

“Dean,” Cas interrupted, leaning and kissing him quick before pulling back, “It is fine. Do not worry that—”

“It's _embarrassing._ First time I bring you home to officially meet 'em and—”

“Then we will simply have to do something worthy of being embarrassed about,” Cas cut him off with, grinning with the reminder of how nervous Dean had been about arranging this first meal between the four of them, and how that nervousness had meant it had taken several days to set it up.

“What—”

Cas cut off Dean's words again with a firm kiss, nudging his lips apart with a thoroughly dirty slide of his tongue while gripping Dean around the waist to pull him from the counter until he was taking Dean's place, pulling him hard against him. Dean let out a soft moan as Cas slid his hands into his jeans pockets and squeezed hard, deliberately rolling his hips against him in time with that continual slide of his tongue. Dean caught on instantly, fingers first sliding up and through Cas' hair then slipping to cup his jaw, sucking Cas' lower lip in between his own.

Cas' soft moan had Dean grinding up against him, fingers drifting downwards to unbutton an extra inch of Cas' chest and then ducking his head to press open-mouthed kisses there. By the time Dean had worked up the length of his neck to his earlobe with grazing teeth and laving tongue, Cas had quite forgotten where he was and any such decorum he should therefore have, his hands still moulding and squeezing Dean's ass through his jeans while a string of filthy promises slipped from his mouth unchecked.

“You want me to take—woah—”

At Sam's spluttered surprise Cas attempted to duck into Dean's neck, but not before the snort of laughter erupted out of him, as Dean continued his kissed trail of attention along his skin, oblivious to Sam being back there in the room with them.

“Dean,” Cas nudged, nosing at Dean's neck before nipping at his ear and sliding his hands back out of his pockets to rest more politely on Dean's waist.

“What?” Dean blinked at him blearily and Cas felt himself stirring at the sight of Dean's green eyes tinged black with arousal.

Sam's embarrassed clearing of his throat behind him had Dean turning his head comically slow in his direction, enough to make Cas have to hide his grin all over again. “I'll come back,” Sam stuttered, hands up out in front of him and backing out of the kitchen, apparently walking into Jess from the yell of protest that drifted back to them out of sight.

Cas raised his arms to lazily drape them around Dean's neck, tilting his head up to claim a kiss of victory. “I believe that went well,” which Dean responded to with little more than a distracted hum, kissing him thoroughly all over again.

“Didn't even do anything,” Dean mumbled, ducking down to continue mouthing along Cas' neck, “we coulda been doing a whole lot more,”

“We could—” Cas began replying but his words were cut off by his own undignified squeal as Dean hoisted him with barely any show of effort until Cas was sitting on the counter and Dean was nudging between his legs, running his hands up and down Cas' thighs repeatedly. The ease with which Dean lifted and moved him around Cas found unbelievably arousing; since that first time Dean had flipped him on to his back on his couch Cas had been picked up and rolled over as if he weighed nothing, pinned against the door of Tea Tales at closing time and kissed up against it for anyone passing by to see, and the way Dean held him in place with little more than the press of his palms against Cas' open thighs when he sucked him off left Cas having to adjust himself every time he thought about it. Which was quite a lot.

Dean, of course, was well aware of how much Cas enjoyed being moved around like that. He grinned up at Cas then with a look of triumph that had Cas' jeans tightening, and though Cas began to protest at the inappropriateness of Dean running his thumb against his length through his jeans, how good it felt meant Cas succeeded only in splaying his legs a little wider. Dean's smile grew even more wicked, adjusting his fingers to wrap around him as best he could through the constricting denim and squeezed, angling his mouth up for a kiss.

“Your idea, Cas,” Dean pointed out, sliding his hands back down Cas' thighs and lifting them at the knee so Cas would know to wrap his legs around him, “you said we should do something worthy of being embarrassed about. Though, I gotta be honest: now all I wanna do is put dinner on hold and carry you like this to my room. Finish what we started here,”

Dean's lips at Cas' neck added to the desperate gasp blasting out of his mouth; Cas wrapped himself a little tighter around Dean and slid his hands up to cup Dean's face, pulling him into a frantic kiss. “Dean, we should—”

“Gonna pin you down,” Dean kissed into his lips, cutting Cas off entirely, “gonna pin you to the bed so you can't move, and I can do whatever I want to you,”

Images assaulted Cas then of just that, leaving him gripping his legs even tighter around Dean and writhing up against him, any fears he might have been about to raise about Sam and Jess being just in the other room forgotten entirely all over again.

“You like that, don't you, Cas,” Dean hummed, hands around Cas' ass and tugging him closer still, “like the idea of me pinning you down and fucking you, huh? Maybe when I'm back to full strength I can take you up against a wall,”

Cas blasted out a breathy _yes_ , his fingers clawing through Dean's hair as he kissed him harder, wondering what the social etiquette might be for them to abandon their dinner plans in favor of what Dean was suggesting.

“Uh... guys?”

The uncertain, mortified tone of Sam's voice was exactly like a cold shower, Cas considered then, his shoulders slumping though his mouth unable to stop echoing Dean's smile against his lips. Cas raised his head and found himself helpless again, this time at the view of Sam standing there looking so very unwelcome in his own kitchen doorway with one hand covering his eyes and the other out in front of him as though he was feeling his way into the room. Jess peeked out from behind Sam's back, and that was the final thing to set Cas off; Cas dropped his forehead down on Dean's shoulder and laughed there helplessly, his shoulders rising and falling with mirth.

Dean pressed a kiss to the side of Cas' head then pulled him down from the counter, pinning him up against it still and giving him a wink that spoke volumes of promises, then turned to look at Sam, shielding Cas behind him.

“What?” Dean demanded, and the annoyance in his tone might have been fake, but it set Cas off laughing all over again, raising his arms to wrap around Dean's middle and grinning into his shoulder blade.

“Uh... nothing. Just... do we... uh... how long's dinner gonna be?” Sam eventually managed to get out; Cas couldn't see the expression on his face from where he was standing but the mortification was still there in his voice.

“'bout fifteen; why don't you go set up the table, give me and Cas a few minutes to—”

“That all you got in you? Fifteen minutes?”

Cas shrank into himself, first at Sam's response, second at Sam's audible realization of his own response, and third at the way Dean squared his shoulders a little wider with indignance practically written across the back of them. A moment later Dean was turning on him again, pressing him harder up against the counter and kissing Cas so dirtily Cas was convinced he was going to come right there in his jeans and in full view of Sam and Jess. But the sound of a grossed-out Sam backing up out of the kitchen once more, and Cas felt Dean's lips curling up against his into a smile, then Dean pulling back from him a touch to grin at him all over again.

“Who knew it'd be so easy to shut Sammy up, huh?” Dean laughed, leaning in for a chaster kiss and lightly wrapping his fingers around Cas' waist, “I shoulda figured this out _years_ ago; how come I only met you _now_ , huh, Cas? How come I didn't have you over for dinner _weeks_ before now, huh?”

Cas took in the mischief in Dean's eyes, the light stroking of his fingertips just beneath his shirt, and the hard press of Dean's body tightly up against his own, and told himself very firmly that he was about the luckiest man alive.

* * *

“So how does all this stuff actually work?”

Cas turned at the odd tone of Sam's question and took in the slight frown on his face as he lifted the teapot lid to peer in at its contents. “Sam?”

“The ingredients of the tea,” Sam added, replacing the lid again and glancing back up at him.

“Well, I have never particularly looked into the chemical composition of the ingredients but I would assume that they have properties that are conducive to aiding with certain ailments. You know, Sam, prior to pharmaceuticals we relied on plants—and all of nature—for everything; from pain relief to... pigmentation for skin coloring. Tattoos and eyeshadows and such,” Cas elaborated at the way Sam's expression seemed to press for more information.

“I guess,” Sam frowned, fingers tapping distractedly at the side of his teacup as he waited for the tea to brew. “I mean. It's helped Dean a bit. With sleep, with his pain,”

“I am glad that it has been effective,” Cas agreed, coming around to sit down beside Sam at the counter though himself facing the door, with one eye constantly drawn to the clock on the wall, silently willing it to speed up.

“Do you think... I mean is there... does any of this stuff help with... you know...” Sam asked, cautious and slowly raising his index finger to point at his temple, then dropping it away again in embarrassment. “Not that... not that I—”

“Sam,” Cas interrupted, shaking his head firmly, “it is natural for you to want to find something to help Dean with whatever issues he may have. He is recovering well,”

Cas and Dean had been together around four months now, with Cas gaining not only an incredible boyfriend who fulfilled him in ways he hadn't even known he was missing, but also an extended family in Sam and Jess, who treated him as though he'd always been a part of their lives. But the pride Cas felt watching Dean's continued recovery had him bristling in defense with any kind of suggestion that Dean might not be doing as well as he should be. Not that that was really what Sam was implying at all, Cas told himself then, internally wincing.

“I know,” Sam agreed, nodding rapidly, “I just didn't want you to think—”

“As I have already told you, Sam: I think no less of Dean for what I assume is perhaps a form of depression and anxiety. I was a rather anxious child myself so I am well aware of the assumption that you can just _snap out of it_ of these things, or that it is attention seeking, when neither are true. And neither does it make anyone any less of a person for having these things,”

Sam gave a slow nod then, and the slight twist of his lips told Cas there was more to it than that. Cas settled himself back on his stool and grabbed his mug from behind him, allowing the smell of the mint drifting up to soothe him a touch as he waited and told himself to be more patient with Sam.

“It's... it's good to hear that. I mean—” Sam turned to him wide-eyed, and Cas shook his head at Sam's obvious concern that he'd caused offense. “I meant. I mean I'm... happy... relieved it doesn't bother you if Dean's... you know...”

“Dean is an exceptional man who happens to have been through multiple traumatic experiences,” Cas replied, haughty and feeling his ire at Sam rise, however unnecessary he knew it to be.

“He is. He _is_ ,” Sam agreed, smiling then rolling his eyes at himself and shifting to pour himself a cup of the tea. “I kind of meant... I mean I _meant_ all of that, but—”

“Sam—”

“Sorry,” Sam said, then groaned at himself. “I promise you; when I'm in a courtroom I've got... all the right things to say,”

Cas smiled, picturing for himself yet again Sam going up against his brother and loving the image, though remaining silent and giving Sam room to find his words.

“What I meant was... I know I'm... I know I fuss over Dean quite a bit. I mean... not actual fussing; he'd kill me if I tried. But... I try and get him to talk a lot. I try and get him to get... help. Because you're right, he is a good... a great guy. He's just never really had the chance – or given himself the chance even to be just that. Always putting everyone else first,”

Cas nodded, sad at the image Sam's words painted but finding they added little to the picture he'd already built up for himself. He took another sip of his tea and nodded his head for Sam to go on.

“I didn't want you to think I was... I don't know. Being pushy, or—or trying to hurry him into some other kind of recovery before he was ready, you know? I just—”

“I understand, Sam. Really. And to answer you question; yes. Some of the ingredients in these teas are used as natural remedies to combat numerous mental health issues. In fact, doctors advise those on some anti-depressant medication to refrain from using things such as St Johns Wort in combination with what is prescribed. It was irresponsible of me to not consider that when I first made tea for him here,” Cas added, cursing to himself under his breath at the latent realization. That first time he had made tea for Dean, had taken in the stoop of his body and the bags beneath his eyes, really, he should have asked. Not that he knew how he would have done at the time, Cas thought then, shaking his head to himself.

“Think we both know he'd never take or do anything to help unless he was force-fed it—or forced into it,” Sam sighed, though nudging against Cas' arm in solidarity to show there was no harm done.

“He repeatedly talks about returning to work,” Cas added then, the thought occuring to him that perhaps if Sam shared his concerns about Dean trying to push himself before he was ready.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, frowning, “I mean technically, I suppose in some ways he is. But every time he drags himself down to that station—”

“It takes him hours... days sometimes to cease being angry with himself for not being able to go inside,” Cas finished for him, his own shoulders dropping with the memory of Dean's defeated look that last time he had tried.

“I don't... I don't know if he's ever gonna make it back to what he used to do, you know?” Sam said, and the look on his face told Cas he'd been thinking that for some time, and that this was the first time he'd allowed himself to say it out loud.

“Dean is concerned that he does not know what else he can do. It is all he has ever known,”

“Yeah, I know it is. But... but you know, Cas. Even if—even if he was one hundred percent back to normal, fighting fit and really ready to go back... the thought of him doing that now... when it never really—I never even really thought about Dean being in any kind of danger when he was working before, you know? Dean's... it's always been what he's wanted to do and so without it—”

“He feels lost,” Cas finished for him, nodding in agreement.

“The thought of him doing that now. I just... I don't think I'd handle it too well. I mean I'll support him every step of the way if he's sure he wants to go back into firefighting, but... if, or when he does... every time I hear about a fire I think I'm gonna lose five years off my life,”

Cas considered how he himself would feel at the thought of Dean rushing in and out of burning buildings and chastised himself for his thoughts instantly turning to lustful ones.

“He is very thorough in his skincare routine,” Cas said then, an abrupt change of subject that thankfully Sam went with without commenting on. Cas' mind wandered for a second to memories of watching Dean patiently rubbing cream into his skin, and Dean allowing him to help, and he had to clear his throat before he got carried away with himself.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, wincing, and thankfully oblivious to the thoughts in Cas' head, “I haven't seen it, not for a while now, but... when he got here those first few days I had to help him a bit because... because he couldn't reach, or he was in too much pain to do it himself. I mean... in the hospital he didn't... it didn't look like much, you know? He was still just _Dean_. Still smiling, hiding the fact he was in pain – he's good at that, 's why I know how much pain he's been in with these burns 'cos he's actually _showing_ how much pain he's in.”

Cas sighed in understanding. Although Dean seemed incapable of hiding anything he was feeling from him now, Cas could easily imagine how much Dean must keep from other people.

“Anyway,” Sam pressed on, shaking his head as though it had been stuck with memories he didn't want to see again, “back in the hospital. He was just... he was just _Dean_ , you know?. The bandages covered all his burns and he was making jokes about being some kinda Greek god in a toga—that might've been the morphine talking though, I guess,”

Sam's voice trailed off again; Cas sat patiently sipping at his tea, his eyes darting between the clock and Sam's face as he waited.

“And that first time when I... when I had to help him... I guess I didn't help things having to stand there holding my breath against the smell when one of the wounds was infected and I had to help clean it out,” Sam groaned, clearly to himself, closing his eyes and slumping back hard in his seat.

“He has healed very well,” Cas assured him, “his skin appears raw in places and sometimes is extra sensitive, but he is doing well. He is sleeping better, eating well; he is doing all that he is able to, Sam,”

Cas watched Sam's repeated slow nodding of his head, recognized the awkward posture of his shoulders and held back a smile, bracing for Sam's next question.

“So when you... when you and Dean, uh... you know...” Sam tried, his cheeks flaming red with embarrassment; Cas knew what a corruptible influence Dean was on him in that moment purely for the joy he felt at seeing Sam blush.

“Are you asking if we _can_ , Sam? Or if we _have_?”

“No—” Sam blasted back, eyes wide and backing up a little, “no, god _no_ , I'm not asking that,”

“Your question,” Cas prompted, trying to keep his face neutral though the wicked grin he was fighting against made its way out. Sam looked back at him cautiously and took several attempts to organize his words, then cleared his throat.

“I just... he's okay? I mean... he's not... he's not, uh... he's not pushing himself, or—”

“Sam,” Cas interrupted, taking pity on him though still grinning wickedly, “I assure you. We are careful. We have not caused him any further injury and have done all we cannot to further irritate his wounds. We are careful,” he repeated, adamant that he get that point across.

Sam gave an awkward swallow and smiled weakly in thanks. “I mean. It's none of my business, but I just want him to be okay, you know?”

“Of course,”

“Fact is,” Sam said, shifting in his seat and the uncomfortable way he did it told Cas to brace for even more awkwardness, “was a few weeks... few times when he's, uh... when it's got too much for him when... when I got the impression he'd... he'd never let anyone even _see_ him again like —like _that_ ,”

Dean stood naked under the stream of the shower allowing Cas to kiss over each one of his scars was not an image Cas was about to share with Sam, but it did put a smile on his face and confidence in his answer. “I assure you; I have seen them all. And I can tell you with an authority you would not wish details of, that all of his wounds are healing remarkably well,”

Sam gave a weak smile in thanks, and for a few moments they sat together in companionable silence, with Cas jumping down from his stool at one point to thank a customer as they left and clearing up their table then returning to sit next to Sam.

“You know, Cas,” Sam said, and this time Cas couldn't place the tone in his voice. Whatever he was about to say Cas could see he was struggling with, so did nothing to prompt, quietly sitting there draining the last of his tea. “You know... fact is... there's been a few times when—I mean not lately; not at _all_... but when —when he's really worried me,”

Cas' stomach rolled, guessing already what Sam might be suggesting but waving his hand asking for Sam to continue anyway.

“Well,” Sam said, squirming in his seat though pouring the remainder of his tea and swirling it around his cup as though he needed the distraction, “first off. The nightmares... I mean I know Dean's been through hell. I've... I've heard and seen him going through hell. Back when Dad would... would use him as some kinda punchbag and Dean would just stand there and take it, never fight back, or more likely stand in _my_ way so I wouldn't get hurt,”

Cas fought against the urge to close his eyes to Sam's words, hating the reality of them.

“But you know... seeing Dean actually thrashing around and calling out helpless like that. Before all this happened... Dean's never once shown any kind of... of _need_ in his life. He's always hidden it from me, you know? Always... always kept stuff to himself,”

“I would imagine Dean would defend himself by saying he was simply looking out for his brother,”

“And he'd kill the pair of us for discussing him like this,” Sam added, turning a weary gaze to Cas. Cas nodded back with a look that said Dean would never need to know about their conversation unless he asked.

“And... especially in the beginning after the fire... there were times when... when I wasn't sure Dean wouldn't try and... and, uh... when the _look_ on his face had me scared I might wake up and find—”

“Sam—”

“I mean I don't think he _would_... but... but the look in his eyes sometimes it was like... it was like he'd given up,” The dejectedness in Sam's voice had Cas reaching for him, gripping a comforting hand around his forearm until Sam could look at him.

“I cannot speak for Dean's behavior before he and I... before we got to know each other, Sam,” he began, carefully choosing his words before speaking them, “but I can assure you that currently, although Dean does still have some issues with sleeping and recurring nightmares. Although he is at times still in a great amount of pain, and that he has more... more, uh... dark days than any of us would like. He is... he is doing okay. If I had any concerns about... about his health, then I would talk to him about it. I promise you, Sam,”

“You know, Cas,” Sam told him with a warm smile and another nudge into his side, “you might be about the best thing Dean's ever had in his whole life. And I know—you've not exactly been together more than five minutes, and I don't wanna jinx it but—but you make him happy like... like I've never seen him happy before,”

“I can only take a portion of the credit for that, Sam; and it has been vastly more than five minutes,” Cas said with a shake of his head, though a warm glow of pride sat in his chest, “Dean is strong, and he is doing all he can to get better. I am honored that he would allow me to be by his side as he does that,”

Cas hopped own off of his stool again then to serve a customer that settled themselves down in the corner of the cafe, one of Cas' regulars so he didn't even have to ask for her order. He watched Sam out of the corner of his eye the entire time, saw him shredding a napkin in anxious twirls of it between his fingers.

“Have you been to one of these appointments with him, Sam?” Cas asked once he was free again, this time staying his side of the counter and tidying it up. Dean had told him how the doctor had him bending and stretching so they could see how his skin was healing, see how his mobility was returning, even replicating some of the positions the doctor had got him into with exaggeration that had them both howling with laughter. Dean had said the hardest part of it was actually the talking, the way the doctor seemed to think, as Sam thought, that talking about what had happened was the best way to help him get over it.

“No; I mean I offered. I'm sure you have as well, but—”

“But he prefers to go alone,” Cas nodded, leaving Sam for a second to rinse off the few plates he'd let stand in the sink before returning to sit beside him.

“He does. I should've... I don't know why I didn't just go to work as normal, let him send me a message when he was done instead of sitting here worrying about it; not like he's not had a dozen of 'em before,”

“It is just a regular check-up, correct?” Cas asked, a sudden rush of worry himself for thinking Dean was keeping some kind of medical emergency from him.

“It is,” Sam relented, sighing, “I'm just... I don't know. I guess lately I've felt... I feel like I need to—to look out for him in a way I've never really had to before. It's weird, and he'd mock me for doing it but... I need to know he's okay,”

Cas smiled to himself, thought but didn't say out loud that Dean and Sam's co-dependence on one another sometimes was a little intense. Cas hadn't had to grow up in the environment they had, he reasoned to himself, so how would he know whether that dependence had been borne of that or not?

The doorbell chimed then, and Cas' eyes lifted from his lap, his face splitting into a relieved grin to see Dean walking in.

“Hey,” he called, crossing the cafe in three easy strides and stepping right up to Cas, slotting himself between his legs and wrapping his arms around him in a warm hug.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas smiled back once Dean had straightened himself up, the paper bag of medicine crinkling and now sitting in his lap as Dean nudged mock-less enthusiastically against Sam.

“How'd it go?” Sam asked, nudging him back, plucking the bag from Cas' lap and peering in.

“The usual,” Dean replied, leaning into give Cas a quick kiss, “says I'm healing up great. I gotta keep applying that stuff, keep doing the exercises they gave me. Wants me to try _meditation_ for the... you know. Panic attacks,”

Cas threaded his fingers through Dean's and squeezed at his words. He was more likely to see Dean stand up and recite poetry than he was to see him meditate, Cas thought to himself, then lost a few seconds imagining Dean reading some of his favorites and had to clear his throat to bring himself back to the present.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asked, already standing and leaning in for a kiss of his own. Dean grinned against him and nodded, leaving Sam to ask his own questions of Dean as Cas knew he needed to, looking over at them both fondly as he prepared them all something to eat.

* * *

 

  



	12. Killing time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

_I will be back soon x_

Dean checked his phone for a fourth time reading Cas' last message then dropped it beside him on the bed and sighed, glaring up at the ceiling and adamantly ignoring the time he'd just seen. Cas had been gone for three days, was due back in another two, and already Dean felt the impact of not having him around. Aside from the immediate worsening of his insomnia and the disappearance of his appetite came the realization of just how much Cas had come to mean to him in such a short space of time. Missing Cas seemed to have taken over every other activity in Dean's mind leaving him sullen and sulking in his room like a moody teenager if you asked Sam, and like a prince without his knight, if you asked Charlie.

Dean didn't ask either of them, he grumbled to himself as their words repeated over and over in his head along with all the other usual noise in there; they'd both just told him, whether he was a willing listener or not.

With another sigh up into the dark Dean snatched up his phone again and began thumbing through previous messages, the few photos he'd managed to get of Cas before he began protesting, and barely stopped himself from Facebook stalking him. An idle finger traced one of the whorls of scars on his chest as he scrolled through, his mind replaying images to him of Cas pressing kisses there, and his heart sinking with missing him all over again.

Cas was with Meg visiting a college friend, a yearly pilgrimage – or coven meeting the way Meg told it – to Chicago. The trip had been extended by a couple of days when Meg had found details of a writer's workshop that apparently she would endure by his side to keep him company whilst he took copious notes. Cas' enthusiasm for the workshop waxed and waned, until Meg announced one of the speakers was a former guest lecturer from their own studies that Cas had had a terrible crush on in their second year, and Cas had blushed like the sun for the reminder.

Even now Dean felt the falseness of his own smile of encouragement, and his anger at himself for the possessive jealousness that had surged through him at the time. The lecturer's name was firmly imprinted on Dean's memory, and rapid fingers overrode his rationality, whispering at Dean to seek him out. A few clicks and a LinkedIn page later, and Dean was scowling down at a photograph of a man looking older, wiser, reading a profile that told him he had so much more to offer Cas than Dean did himself – despite the Facebook profile Dean then just happened to find himself on revealing the man was happily married with two college-aged children. Even his Tweets were these intelligent, clever things that Dean himself would never be able to cobble together, Dean grumbled, clicking out of everything then dropping the phone back down on the bed.

A few moments passed, with Dean mentally kicking himself for allowing such uncertainty win out when he and Cas were so good, and had been for what had to be more than six months now. Then the phone was back in his hands, and pretending to himself that he wasn't really doing it Dean was on Facebook again, scrolling through the Tea Tales page, because Cas refused to have a Facebook account of his own. He watched a few videos of Cas reading during his book club night with his lip caught between his teeth and his chest swelling with pride, smiled at the pictures Cas was dragged into and clearly didn't want to be a part of, then clicked on the link to his Twitter profile and scrolled his way through that as well.

Cas' Tweets were hysterical. Dry, witty and informed, it was like another facet of Cas' personality was being revealed to Dean as he laid there in the dark reading through each and every word he could find. Only Cas could wax lyrical about tea one moment then make a passionate appeal for keeping open a center for LGBT youth in their neighborhood, and then shout down a bigot with such eloquence by somehow combining knowledge about the two things.

Further back in Cas' Tweets Dean found himself laughing hard at a lengthy exchange between he and Meg, and out of curiosity, he started scrolling through her Twitter account as well, finally making his way to her Facebook. This is where he should have come first, Dean decided, grinning and getting comfortable as he looked through photo upon photo of her with Cas. There was a really good one of them together with both of them grinning drunkenly at the camera; Dean wondered for a second who the person taking the picture might have been but then was distracted by Cas' comment via the Tea Tales page beneath it.

_Just because you didn't 'tag' me does not mean I would not assume you would not post this. Take it down_

Which clearly, Meg had blatantly ignored.

Dean clicked through all of Meg's albums systematically, snorting at the one marked College and all of the pictures of a young Cas glaring back at him, clearly never having been a fan of having a camera shoved in his face. He saved the one labeled For Target Practice until last, and was rewarded with several photos coupled with scathing comments, clearly exes of Meg's or other people who had generally wronged her in some way.

Dean's heart gave a violent thud at one of the pictures, making him sit up against the headboard a little too quick, leaving him hissing out into the dark at the stinging drag along his back. Cas, glaring and adamantly not looking at the camera, leaned in the curved arm of a man beaming with self-confidence, raising a glass in toast. The comment written by Meg to accompany it was vicious, vitriolic anger spat at him for hurting her best friend. Cas had told Dean enough of Balthasar to paint a picture for himself, but seeing the man smiling up at him from his phone screen had Dean's stomach boiling.

Swallowing the rising bile back down Dean clicked on his name and loaded up what looked like a very active profile, showing _Balthasar_ to be a pretty successful artist. Dean couldn't stop himself clicking through his photos, scrolling further and further back seeking out images to torture himself with. Sure enough, almost the very first photo posted was of Cas, and Balthasar's comments had Dean sneering possessively to himself.

By five in the morning Dean had worked his phone battery down to two percent and his blood pressure probably ready to explode out of his veins. He'd trawled through looking for any kind of interaction between Cas and Balthasar, but aside from Balthasar liking the Tea Tales page and posting a

_Good luck, love_

when the cafe had first opened, there was nothing. Then Dean had gone back to Meg's profile and scrolled through for any mention of Cas at all. When his phone finally rang out in complaint at the lack of charge left Dean rolled over stiffly to plug it in then fired off a quick message to Cas apologizing for cyber-stalking him, then dejectedly throwing his head back against his pillow and finally falling into a fitful sleep.

Dean woke just a couple of hours later, still grumbling under his breath to himself and glad both Jess and Sam had already left for work so they wouldn't have to put up with his sour mood. He forced himself out of bed and through a shower, prodding and poking at himself and glaring in the mirror afterward as he applied what felt like his millionth layer of cream then stood there sighing impatiently as he waited for it to dry. He preferred doing this at Cas', mostly for the presence of Cas himself but also because there were so many less mirrors. Here he could see himself from every angle, and every melted patch of skin seemed brighter, looked more hideous under the harshness of the bathroom light.

Dean found himself looking for even more flaws, prodding at his stomach and the lines around his eyes, looking down at the way his pubic hair seemed to be this unruly mess where Cas was always so neat and tidy without even trying. Cas, Dean sighed to himself, was gorgeous, every last inch of him. Running kept him lithe, repeated lifting of those industrial-sized bags of flour he kept in the Tea Tales kitchen along with sometimes going to the tea farms he purchased his ingredients from and helping to harvest them himself kept Cas solid, and thick-armed, muscular and just unfairly beautiful. Not that Dean was complaining about any of that, he smiled to himself ruefully then, watching in the mirror as clearly his cock liked the images Dean was going over. No, it was more, as always happened in moments like this, that Dean was comparing himself, and finding himself lacking.

Back in his bedroom and Dean dressed in a hurry, thankful that Charlie was having a games night at her store so he'd at least be occupied for much of the evening. He had a few errands to run for Sam, and was going to get them something cooked so they could just heat it up when he and Jess got in from work, so in theory could keep his mind from straying into darker places for much of the afternoon as well.

Snatching up his phone Dean smiled to see a message from Cas, though sucked in a breath wondering what Cas might make of his confession of stalking him online.

_I am yours to look for wherever you wish, Dean. Though if you would like to look for me in my apartment at around six pm on Friday then that would be most welcome ;) x_

was what he read, however, leaving Dean smiling hard at his luck, firing off a quick reply and forcing himself out to begin his day.

* * *

_Star Wars marathon_ , Dean repeated to himself for what had to be the hundredth time, his hands clammy and clinging to the steering wheel of the Impala as he glanced through the windscreen up at the fire station once again, his stomach griping and rolling leaving him feeling sick. This would be perhaps his seventh attempt at going in to the station now, forcing himself there at the crack of dawn that morning after spending yet another sleepless night taunting himself over his inability to do so; a not-so-refreshing break from desperately missing Cas, but something different to worry himself about all the same.

 _Cas is home tomorrow,_ he told himself, the other thing he'd repeated under his breath almost constantly in the two hours he'd been sat outside the fire station staring it down as though it might be some kind of dragon ready to swallow him up. Dean huffed at himself then, rolling his eyes at the dragon analogy he'd given himself and blaming it entirely on Charlie and the games they'd played the night before.

Tonight he would be at Charlie's with Gilda, Ash and Benny, hopefully with stacks of pizza and a ton of beer—although if Benny happened to bring some of that gumbo he'd brought to the potluck at Charlie's last week Dean wouldn't be complaining, he thought to himself, unconsciously smacking his lips at the memory of its taste then smiling to himself for another new friend made through Charlie. Charlie, organizer of almost his entire social life, had even offered Dean her couch for the night; when Dean had forlornly told her the previous week how much he was dreading Cas being away for a few days, Charlie had planned both the games night and this Star Wars marathon as well.

Sam's attempts to keep Dean occupied had been the more typical Winchester go-to: the first night after Cas had left for his workshop Sam had literally dragged him to a bar, with Jess picking them up hours later and having to ask for Dean's help getting a drunkenly affectionate Sam to bed, grinning and rolling her eyes at Dean the entire time. Sam's subsequent hangover the following morning had almost been enough to make him call in sick; Dean had been up early anyway and drove him to that diner not far from Tea Tales to line his stomach with grease, with Dean giving furtive glances as they passed the cafe hoping that Claire was coping okay with Cas not being there.

Dean grinned then, thumbing through his messages, looking at the ones from Claire and laughing out hard, despite having read them several times already. She had roped in two college friends to help, insisting Cas didn't need to close the cafe like he usually did when he went away; Dean had thought of the terrified-looking Alfie who sometimes covered and the shy, cautious Kevin, who he already knew through a couple of Charlie's games nights at her store, and sent a tactful message to Claire asking how she was doing only to receive a string of indignant messages telling him to butt out – but then further ones bemoaning the meekness of Alfie and Kevin's mother attempting to come in and overhaul the entire cafe.

Another grin to himself as he thumbed through his messages and Dean was smirking at some of the promises Cas had made him that left him shifting in his seat, in his head going over their phone call from the previous night. Dean had sat there in Charlie's store, surrounded by gamers and straining to hear over the noise of a heated argument about whether a shaman or a wizard was ultimately more powerful, with Cas mumbling further promises into his ear about all the things he wanted to do to Dean the moment he got home. Dean let his head fall back against the headrest with a sigh, working out just how many hours were left until he would see Cas again.

For all of the irrational fears that had latched on to him a couple of nights back, Dean knew that Cas was his constant, no question about it. How easily the two of them had just slotted together had at times put Dean on edge and bracing for things to go wrong. But one smile from Cas, one slide of his fingers across Dean's palm to hold his hand and he was calm again. Just like he was doing in that moment, despite being miles and miles away at that workshop and not due back until the next day.

Feeling tethered and more settled, Dean forced himself up out of the car and propelled himself forward, head bent down so he wouldn't have to look, walking straight into the fire station before he could turn himself around and run out again. The second he was in his heart began hammering in protest, as familiar smells and sounds came at him from all sides, and his eyes took in a station that looked like a larger version of his old one back where home used to be. The ceiling as he glanced up looked impossibly high, and Dean felt his knees beginning to tremble, leaving him bunching his fists tightly by his sides and cursing at himself to get a grip.

Dean thought then of Bobby, of his tough-love approach and the way he'd supported Dean throughout all of his career up until that fire that had changed everything for him, and immediately felt a failure, missing Bobby and Ellen so painfully then alongside Cas that everything felt impossible to handle. Dean turned on his heel a little too sharply and had to hold his hands out to steady himself, bent his head down again and made for the exit.

“Looking for someone?”

A loud, stern voice called out to Dean, freezing him on the spot.

“Uh...”

“You can't just wander in off the street, sir. What do you want?” Dean heard, but no matter what he tried to do he couldn't bring himself to turn around or lift his head, his breath beginning to rasp in and out of him with difficulty and his chest feeling so heavy then he had to slouch further forward under its weight. Vaguely off to his left Dean heard footsteps, then saw the outline of a person standing before him and slowly managed to drag himself a little more upright.

“I'll ask again,” the woman said, sounding completely out of patience. “What—” but immediately she stopped talking again and took a step closer to him. Dean swallowed hard, fighting for breath, desperate to be anywhere but here and yet still unable to move.

“It's okay,”

At the softening of the woman's voice Dean dragged his eyes up the final couple of inches to be met by kind eyes smiling back at him with a dance of understanding behind them that Dean fought not to see as pity.

“My office is just over there,” Dean followed the nod of the woman's head and managed to nod back himself, trailing slowly behind her and when directed to slumping into the chair in front of her desk. A cup of water appeared in front of him moments later and Dean sipped greedily at it before he was able to look across the desk to where she now sat, obviously waiting for him to look up.

“Jody Mills. I'm the station chief. And you are?”

“Dean. Uh... Dean Winchester,” Dean cursed himself for his nervous, breaking voice but saw no disapproval or anger in Jody's softening expression.

“Dean. We've been exchanging emails,” and the second she said it Dean remembered seeing her name before.

“We have. I've, uh... I've been tryna get myself down here, but...”

“I understand,” Jody said, a wave of her hand dismissing anything he might be about to say. When Dean found himself so crushed with embarrassment that he couldn't say a single word, Jody's mouth set into another kind smile, and for a few minutes she tactfully changed the subject until Dean felt himself sitting up straighter, the painful clutch in his chest fading away.

“I got a glowing recommendation a while ago from a Bobby Singer who couldn't say enough good things about you,” Jody told him then as though assessing the waters to turn their conversation back around, “told me you'd been through quite an ordeal back—”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, swallowing hard and cutting her off, not ready to hear anyone's praises of him, “yeah, he's, uh, he's a... he's family so—”

“His report was nothing but professional,” Jody smiled, shaking her head, “sounds like we'd have ourselves an asset if you decided to come back to the service,”

“When,” Dean amended, shaking his head adamantly. Jody's smile became sad and she exhaled a soft sigh, tapping her fingers on the desk.

“Dean,” she began, and Dean sucked in a breath ready for some kind of placating, pitying lecture, already bunching up his fists against it, “on paper, you could walk in here tomorrow and get yourself on one of our trucks, meet the crew, fit right in. But... from what I'm seeing right in front of me? You're in no fit state to be even considering returning to work any time soon. You—you just had a panic attack stood out there in the middle of my station; think I'd be—liability-speaking—letting you out on a job so long before you're ready?”

A wall of shame hit Dean then, self-loathing comments screaming at him from all sides until he wanted to curl up into a ball right there in that office and rock.

“Fact is, you _would_ be a liability in your present state. If you froze up like you just did in the middle of a fire somewhere, I don't even wanna think about the consequences. I can't make that sound any better than it does, and I'm real sorry to drop that on you like this when it's clearly taken so much out of you to get yourself down here, but it's nothing but the truth. I presume you'd respect truth infinitely more than mollycoddling, Dean?”

Dean allowed Jody's words to sink in and felt the volume dropping on the voices belittling him, let him raise his head enough to look back over at her with a cautious nod of agreement.

“Clearly you're making progress,” Jody continued, looking him up and down, “you look in good enough physical shape to be here, though you'd probably go through several medicals to confirm that. And you've finally made it in here after eight attempts at trying—”

“Seven,” Dean corrected, shaking his head.

“Eight,” Jody repeated, typing rapidly at her laptop then turning it to show Dean a log she'd been keeping, adding his latest visit with that day's date, “couple more times, preferably when you're really _ready_ to be here, and we can talk about a phased return. But it comes with a lot of ifs, and is gonna take time, Dean; and a lot of work from you,”

“What kinda ifs?” Dean asked, already anticipating what she was going to tell him.

“Well,” Jody began, pressing herself back into her chair and sighing, “first is those medicals. There's the general fitness one all our people take, then there'd be a more in-depth one with you; I don't know what the recovery time is on burns like yours because I've never had a firefighter return after being caught in a fire like you were, so I don't know what I'm working with here. And we'd have to make sure your skin would be okay inside our equipment; you know the kinds of temperatures those things get to even without being in an actual fire,”

Dean thought of the way his skin felt like it was blistering in certain fabrics or even when washed with some kinds of laundry detergent, and felt his heart sinking all over again.

“And then there'd be the psych assessments. We'd insist on counseling; can't go through a trauma like you've been through and not have all the people on our board demanding every sign off possible that you're actually fit for work. Bureaucracy bull's gonna make us jump through all kinda hoops, tick all the boxes. It's going to take time,”

Confirmation of what Dean had been telling himself was a likelihood filled him with an unexpected sense of calm, not the panic he'd been anticipating. He found himself nodding back at Jody and sitting himself more comfortably, accepting her words, the fear that had gripped him dissipating along with all of the angry words he'd been hurling at himself. Jody's surprise was evident, looking as though she was preparing for an argument.

“Yeah, I don't like the idea of someone poking around in my head like that, or any kind of tests at all,” Dean said, shrugging his shoulders, “I mean if I gotta do it for the job then I'll do it. But I'll do it kicking and screaming,”

“I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Dean; Singer's report of you was very thorough,” Jody laughed, and her expression shifted to something more comfortable, more trusting, which in turn helped Dean relax further still.

“I'm not ready to come back,” Dean announced after a couple of minutes of silence between them, a blast of laughter escaping at him being so truthful with himself, “I don't know what I expected coming back in here, but... now I'm here. I know I'm not ready for it. I really would be a liability,”

“You would,” Jody agreed, open and honest and with no sense of unkindness, “both to yourself and those you worked with. Now, if you wanted to start coming back here to get used to the place, come read through all of our lovely health and safety literature and familiarise yourself with a new set of state bureaucracy, you're more than welcome, any time,”

“Tempting as that is,” Dean laughed, already shaking his head to turn down her offer.

“I should also forewarn you,” Jody said, leaning her elbows on the desk and over as though in confidence, “our coffee is shitty. I bring in a flask from home and pop out on my lunch when I can,”

Dean let out another snort of laughter and shook his head. “You're really doing your best to sell it to me, huh?”

Jody held up her hands in the air and pursed her lips, “Gotta be straight up about the important stuff,”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Dean retorted with, deciding that he already liked Jody Mills, even if she could never be a replacement for Bobby.

“So what've you been doing with yourself? You've been coming here a while now,” Jody asked, glancing back at her laptop screen as though checking the dates, “you live nearby?”

“My brother's; not too far from here,” Dean sighed, nodding, “I'm currently the loser brother in my brother and his wife's spare room. Cooking all their meals' cos they'd sooner just burn the kitchen down than cook an actual meal in there, but yeah. Feeling a lot like I'm encroaching on their personal space,”

“Then you're more an asset than a loser, wouldn't you say?” Jody countered, grinning back at him.

“I guess,” Dean shrugged, an idle hand at the back of his neck as he thought about how to answer her. “I've... I guess I've been, uh, getting better with all this,” he said, jolting his arms as though that was enough to explain the mess that was his skin.

“Guess that's a full-time job in itself,” Jody replied, giving a rueful smile.

“It can be. It's more... it's more the boredom, you know? Back h—uh... back where I was living, I was always... I was always working, you know? That and... and my dad got sick and I had to look after him as well so... so I never really had free time. Now I got it in abundance and I'm learning what to do with it. Kinda hard,”

Jody nodded in understanding. “What's your free time look like?”

“Uh... I draw. Read. Watch some stuff. Made some new friends that got me back into gaming. Lucked out and got myself a boyfriend,” Dean added, unconsciously squaring his shoulders at the very thought of Cas.

“Sounds pretty hectic to me,”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, still smiling, “the good kinda hectic though,”

Dean and Jody spoke for another ten minutes or so before he decided it was time to leave and dragged himself up out of his chair. They exchanged numbers, and when Dean left the station and returned to the car he felt lighter for it, no closer to getting himself back to work, but at least no

longer deluding himself that he should be ready by now.

* * *

“Meg tells me that I should be angry with you for _Facebook stalking_ me and says that I should express her disapproval of you using her profile to do so with some kind of physical violence,”

Exactly six pm on Friday evening and Dean had raised his knuckles to knock on Cas' apartment door, only for it to be swung open and the man himself drag him in, pinning him firmly up against the back of it with the full weight of his chest to close it behind them.

“She did, huh,” Dean managed to get out, his overnight holdall prised from his fingers and dropped to the floor as Cas grinded himself insistently against him then leaned in to start nuzzling and nipping at his neck.

“Yes,” Cas mumbled into his skin before biting down and sucking a bruise into him; the sharp suddenness of it went straight to Dean's cock and had him needing to hold on tightly around Cas' waist to keep himself upright, “I will assume this is adequately violent,”

“Not sure Meg meant she wanted you to give me a hickey, but I'll take it,” Dean managed to blast out before Cas claimed his mouth in a bruising, filthy kiss as he worked his fingers between them to open Dean's jeans.

“A pity,” Cas growled against him, nipping at Dean's lower lip before tangling their hands together, stooping to pick up Dean's bag then dragging him to the bedroom. Once in there Cas had Dean out of his clothes in seconds and on his back, standing at the foot of the bed himself as he undressed slowly with his eyes on Dean the entire time. “She also told me to pass on the message that you are to call her. Be worried; I have no idea what it is about,”

“Oh I'm worried,” Dean blurted out, though already far too aroused to really mean it.

“Good,” Cas replied already sounding bored of the subject of Meg and giving himself a languid stroke that Dean watched without being able to tear his eyes away.

“You know, Cas. There are other ways to—”

But Cas interrupted Dean by crawling in between his legs and immediately curling over to suck his cock into his mouth. Dean arched up and cried out at the sudden warmth engulfing him, protesting when Cas pulled off to press him into the bed with firm hands against his upper thighs. Cas looked up for a moment, his face immediately morphing into something wicked, forcing a whimper out of Dean's mouth as he bent again to mouth and lick his way over Dean's length with enthusiastic little moans, then sucked him in hard into his mouth once more.

One loud groan all along Dean's length had him trembling, his hand shakily reaching out to cradle the back of Cas' head. Cas pulled off at the gesture and smiled up at Dean, wrapping his fingers around his base then humming a kiss against Dean's cock head, darting out his tongue in kitten licks that sent out repeated jolts through Dean's gut and left his thighs twitching further apart.

Without warning, Cas was pitching left and sucking in another bruise to a patch of skin just beneath Dean's hip that had escaped the fire, but was now an angry, lustful bruise that Cas was currently licking over and growling out possessively against. Another followed to Dean's other hip, and with a nudge for Dean to roll over on to his knees Cas sucked yet another into his ass cheek, running his stubbled jaw over it and chuckling to himself at Dean's gasp.

“You will remember this every time you sit down for the next few days,” Cas promised; Dean swallowed hard in anticipation, not knowing if Cas meant the hickeys or whatever it was he was planning on doing to him. Wedging a knee between Dean's Cas wordlessly told him to part them then stroked greedy hands down his sides to angle Dean into the position he wanted.

“On your forearms,” Cas growled, humming in approval as Dean adjusted himself to do just that, leaving Dean feeling exposed and excited and arching his hips back a little more for him. Cas slid his hands over his cheeks then without warning parted them, leaning and blowing over his hole. Dean jolted at the feel of it, his cock growing thick with anticipation of what Cas might be about to do.

One warm lick of tongue over his hole later and Dean was whimpering into the pillow, his hips rolling back of their own accord for more. Cas kept a firm grip on him and licked again, lapping at him until he could nudge his tongue inside of him, humming deep and pleased against Dean and repeatedly swirling and diving his tongue in. The heat of it, the insistence of Cas' tongue against and in him had Dean calling out in desperation, his thighs trembling, his cock leaking hard beneath him on to the bed.

“I've never—” he tried to blast out; Cas pressed his lips around Dean's hole and tongued at him more insistently, growling against him the entire time. Shifting a little Cas pulled Dean's cheeks apart a little wider then, lapping at him and sliding his tongue in as deep as the ring of muscle there would allow. Then he was opening his mouth wide around Dean's hole again and sucking hard; Dean wailed out and struggled to keep himself upright.

Cas kept sucking and licking at him without pausing, encouraging more desperate whimpers out of Dean with his own moan for every one. In a daze, Dean heard Cas opening something beside him and then a slicked up finger was pressing all the way into him: Dean wailed and writhed helplessly on it, and Cas worked him open with an alternated slide of fingers and tongue until the only noise coming out of Dean was a long, broken whimper.

Dean's forehead now pressed against the pillow as he arched and rocked his hips back against Cas' tongue, so overwhelmed and incoherent with this new sensation that he found himself feeling like he might shake apart with sheer need. Without warning Cas pulled back from him to kneel up, dipped his fingers into Dean with ease and hummed in approval then quickly slid a condom on and lined himself up.

“I happen to like the idea that you are possessive of me, Dean,” Cas told him, hands moulding his cheeks apart as he teased Dean with his cock head, “I like that you realise you are _mine_ ,” and with that Cas slammed himself into Dean, filling him in one slick slide. Dean howled and tried to ram his hips back to get even more of that full feeling; Cas fell forward and curled over Dean's back, pressing and biting another hickey into the base of his neck as he gave a languid roll of his hips.

Cas' hands slid slowly down his sides until he was gripping hard around Dean's waist, pulling himself almost entirely out of Dean and then slamming himself back in. Dean curled his fingers into the edge of the pillow and held on, every strike of Cas up inside him sending sparks of the sweetest pleasure out and making his cock strain beneath him. Cas shifted his position and the angle had Dean whimpering all over again; Cas chuckled behind him and stroked a reassuring hand over his back before going back to striking that same spot again and again.

“Can you come like this, Dean?” Cas asked, his voice urgent against his ear and thick with lust as he continued driving into him. But Dean's ability to speak had escape him entirely, his stomach coiling so tightly as his orgasm built he could do little but blast out breathy little gasps. Cas' continued groans with how much he was enjoying this brought Dean closer still, and though he'd never come without being touched before Dean felt so desperately close to coming that he was sure he would.

Cas shifted again and that heat built in Dean another notch, tightening and coiling, punching the breath out of him. Sliding his hands over Dean's back and gripped around his shoulders Cas pitched forward shifting his angle inside Dean just a touch, and that was enough to finish Dean off. One final thrust up into him and Dean was crying out, coming in thick spurts against the bed, only managing to stay on his knees and not collapse there because of Cas' firm grip immediate around his waist holding him up.

Cas slowed for a second, and the way he shifted Dean presumed meant he was leaning back to look at the way he was filling him. Then Cas was pitched forward for a final time and thrusting into him sharply, biting down on Dean's neck as he came, grinding himself into him.

With a loud _oof_ Cas collapsed on top of him, and for a few moments they were little more than a heaving heap attempting to regain their breath. Cas pressed repeated kisses into Dean's neck and hair where he could reach, then pulled out of him slowly and collapsed down on the bed beside Dean on his back.

“Perhaps your punishment should be sleeping in the wet patch,” Cas mused tiredly, the back of his hand out and running over Dean's back.

Dean turned his head and grinned at him, beyond exhausted. “Not sure Meg meant that either,”

“Perhaps,” Cas smiled, leaning in and kissing him, “however, you are mine to do what I want with. As I am yours; I think I have done enough,”

Dean closed his eyes and rolled over, grimacing at the wetness now trailing down his side but not really caring. Cas peppered kisses over his face as he whispered how much he had missed him for a few minutes then pulled Dean to his feet, dragging him into the shower.

* * *

  
  



	13. Familial feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Cas**

Dean. Fast asleep and curled into his pillow, yet gripping Cas' hand tight to his stomach and mumbling unconscious approval for every kiss Cas pressed into his neck. This was the image Cas chose to carry himself through the morning, coupled with their lengthy kiss goodbye at his apartment door interrupted rudely by the elevator doors pinging open and Gabriel hollering commentary at them.

Through Gabe's nonstop innuendo-fuelled questioning on the drive to their parent's house, to the forcibly formal greeting of his mother in the doorway and his father's awkward one in his office, right up to and including sitting down to an overly elaborate dinner that Cas had no appetite for: that image of Dean in his bed that morning was what kept Cas going, enabled him to make idle conversation and show only the mildest discomfort at the vulgarities spilling out of his brother's mouth.

It wasn't so much what Gabe was saying that had Cas squirming in his seat but the reason for it that had Cas on edge, and have to keep dipping back into his memories to keep himself sane. Gabe was only at his most obnoxious like this in front of their parents when trouble was brewing; Cas had seen him do it countless times before so knew what signs to look for, and though Gabe would never give him an out and out heads up to whatever subject matters their mother had decided would be discussed at the dining room table, Gabe's behaviour was a clear indication to Cas to brace himself for whatever was to come.

“How is Megan?” Emily asked, and Cas' stomach dropped, knowing every conversation that had ever started with an inquiry after Meg always took exactly the same route.

“ _Meg_ is well, thank you for asking,”

“Is she still working at that school?”

To anyone else who didn't know her, Cas thought, gritting his teeth as his mother spoke, Emily Shurley might be mistaken for a sweet, cautious woman who was nothing but polite. But to Cas' ears and behind closed doors with only the family to hear it, all Cas heard was her condescending tone, the one reserved particularly for things she deemed beneath her, which was, in fact, a staggering amount of things. Meg was high on the list, with his mother not approving of her manner, dress, the state school that she worked at and her continual refusal to join in with belittling Cas on the rare occasions that they met. Emily's inability to bend Meg's will to hers was a constant irritation to her, so in turn a constant source of amusement for Cas.

“She is still an English teacher at the high school, yes. She will likely make department head within the year,” Cas added with pride for his friend, knowing how hard Meg worked and how she truly loved her job.

“I'd love to watch her dominating a class,” Gabe mused with his mouthful, stuffing in even more and winking at Cas.

“She does not dominate—”

“Bet it's the whips. Bet she wears—”

“She seems far too caustic... to acerbic to be teaching anyone anything,” Emily interrupted, grimacing at Gabe as he chewed deliberately loud.

“That's what it is,” Gabe enthused, slapping Cas on the arm and making him jolt, “she terrifies them into submission. That's how she's so good at what she does,”

“She is also passionate about the subject and extremely knowledgeable,” Cas added in Meg's defense; as well as studying with her Cas had actually seen Meg teaching on numerous occasions, and admired how she always had the entire class enraptured, waiting on her every word. “You should hear her reading Keats,”

“I have little time for such frivolities as poetry,” Emily retorted, staring Cas down; Cas kept his expression neutral but didn't look away, not caving to her pointed undermining of one of the things he himself loved so much. He was used to the tactic, had even at times counted how many she could get through before it got too much to handle and he had to make excuses and leave.

“Hey, Cas. Remember that time we got her to recite that poem in that bar and she ended up breaking that guy's nose 'cos he thought it was some kinda invitation to—”

“Her parents must be mortified at her unfeminine behavior—”

Gabe let out a low, crude whistle and shook his head. “Mother; have you actually _seen_ Meg? Unfeminine? She's like sin wrapped up in —”

“Are you suggesting she should not defend herself from unwanted advances?” Cas cut in with, attempting to silence them both.

“If she were to behave appropriately she would not invite such... attention,”

In his head, Cas counted slowly backward from five, knowing his mother's next statement off by heart.

“I am so thankful that you chose not to get involved with her in a romantic manner, Castiel; the thought of her as a daughter-in-law-”

“I can assure you, Mother, that Meg is just as relieved; and also that I will never be providing you with any _daughter_ -in-law of any kind,”

“Oh come on now, Castiel. One day you'll have to give up this... charade you insist on living and—”

“My sexuality is no _charade_ ,” Cas countered immediately, rage beginning to boil in his stomach and the telltale clutch of anxiety at his throat already tightening its grip.

“Cassie's got himself a boyfriend,” Gabe added, smiling sweetly across the table at their mother and shoving another forkful of food into his mouth, blatantly ignoring the bristling anger on her face.

Cas resisted the urge to reach out and shove Gabe hard, reined in the sigh bubbling up out of him and waited for the fallout.

“The Milton's daughter Anna was asking after you last week, Castiel,” Emily continued with as though she had heard neither of them, her voice calm though her jaw twitching with raging disapproval at Gabe's announcement.

“Really,”

“Yes. She was keen to see you; the school she works at is only a short distance from that cafe you work in. I encouraged her to visit you during the week,”

Cas thought of Anna's visit mid-week and her rueful apology that their parents were conspiring against them when it wasn't something she wanted either, then carefully put down his knife and fork and curled his hands into fists beneath the table, quiet fury making them tremble. “Firstly, mother; I _own_ the cafe, I do not merely _work_ there,”

“I—”

“And secondly, if you have such disdain for teaching—”

“I have no such thing,” Emily interrupted, the anger now coloring her cheeks at the unexpected retort from Cas. Normally he would sit in silence and answer all of her questions with a yes or no, or make mumbling, placating comments just to get himself through the interrogation unscathed. But today Cas had no patience for it, not when the image of Dean was so fresh in his mind to give him strength to stand up for himself.

“I have great admiration for teachers, for any profession that is worthy,” Emily continued, narrowing her eyes a touch at Cas as though he didn't already know she was aiming the pointed comment at him.

“I see. So what is the difference between—”

“Anna's school is a pinnacle of academia,”

“Yeah,” Gabe agreed, snorting, “that'll be 'cos it's a private school with people _paying_ for it to be the best, right?”

Cas rolled his eyes, shooting a brief smile in Gabe's direction.

“That is hardly the point. It is a fact that when compared with a state school environment—”

“Anyone want a drink?”

Cas looked over at his father, at his one and only contribution to the entire conversation, catching the flicker of an apologetic smile before it disappeared again, and slumped back in his chair.

“Anna,” Emily continued after turning momentarily to glare at her husband, ignoring him as he pushed back from the table and disappeared then returned from the kitchen with a second bottle of wine, “would likely overlook your various dalliances and—”

“ _Dalliances_?” Cas seethed, glaring back at her.

“And inability to commit to a worthwhile career,” Emily pressed on as though there had been no interruption. “Without your grandmother wasting her money on you, no doubt—”

“Perhaps I am beyond redemption, mother,” Cas replied drily, pushing away his plate now that his appetite had completely disappeared.

“You are running out of time to do what is right, to settle down,” Emily blasted then, fury written across her face making her expression wild.

“Aww I don't know about that,” Gabe said, a hand out and gripping tight around Cas' shoulder and fluttering his eyelashes at him, “Cassie here's pretty serious about his Deano, right, Cas? Bet he's already got his own key,”

“Why would Castiel be giving his apartment key to anyone?”

“Not that it is any of your concern, no one has a key to my apartment other than the spare I leave with Meg,” Cas replied, shaking his head, although he had been toying with the idea of giving a key to Dean as well over the past couple of weeks, liking the idea of coming home to find him already there waiting for him. Preferably naked.

“ _Meg_ ,” Emily seethed not quite under her breath enough for Cas not to hear it.

“Yes, Mother, Meg has a key to my apartment, as I have a key to hers,”

Gabriel let out a snort and shoved Cas in the arm. “Hope she gives you fair warning when she's coming over these days so she don't walk in on you and Dean—”

“Enough!” Emily's shout was accompanied with her shoving her chair back in a harsh slide across the floor and her fingers gripping tightly around the table edge. “I will not have talk of such... such unnatural—”

“Oh it's _natural_ , Mother; apparently all of God's creatures have a least a little bisexuality in 'em—”

“Silence, Gabriel—”

“'cept Cassie here's only interested in—”

“Gabriel. I will not have you talk like—”

“Mother, if you wish to vent your anger somewhere I would suggest you do so at its intended target,” Cas interrupted, looking between Gabe and their mother in disbelief.

“Oh I'll _vent my anger_ where it's due, Castiel, don't you worry about that,” Emily mocked, looking at Cas then with such disgust in her eyes it left him feeling a little sick, “if I ever meet this _Dean —_”

“You will _not_ be meeting Dean,” Cas cut her off immediately, “I would not inflict you or your bigotry on him,”

“He's convinced you this is how you are,” Emily waved a disgusted hand in his direction as she spat her words out; Cas wrapped his fingers tight around the sides of his chair and told himself to calm.

“No, this _is_ how I am, Mother,” Cas retorted with, sounding just as weary as he felt. So many times they had had this conversation. So many times his mother had refused to accept him leaving Cas feeling worthless, small, questioning all that was wrong with him. “This is how I have always been. I am gay; the sooner you accept that —”

“I will never accept that,” Emily countered, adamantly shaking her head. “I still have faith that you will change—”

“I will not _change —_”

“Who is this _Dean_?” Emily asked suddenly, leaning across the table and glaring at him, palms pressing firm against its surface and making it squeak under her weight as she half-stood. The look on her face was pure fury; Cas though, just for thinking about Dean, felt immediately calm. It was like a weight lifting from his shoulders; looking up at the sneering anger of his mother Cas accepted that he would never have her acceptance, and more importantly, it wasn't something he needed to seek out any more. In truth, he thought, huffing to himself and squaring his shoulders, it was something he hadn't really needed for a very long time.

“My boyfriend,” Cas replied with, full of pride.

“What does he do?”

“He is—was—a firefighter,” Cas said, his anger surging at what looked like the dismissive roll of his mother's eyes, a brief dip into his memories of Dean's resigned acceptance that he might not ever go back to it, and his own subsequent comforting of Dean that was far too inappropriate to be thinking about in familial company. A happy distraction, however.

“A _firefighter_ ,” she repeated, her voice dripping with disdain that confirmed that dismissal.

“Yes. A firefighter. Up until he was injured—”

“He's not _working_?” Emily asked in disbelief, deliberately picking up on anything she could criticise him for.

“No, he is recovering. It was a severe—”

“Let me guess. He visits you at your apartment because he doesn't have a place of his own?”

“He lives with his brother whilst—”

“Of course he does,” Emily seethed, “yet he's well enough to corrupt—”

“He is not corrupting anybody,” Cas bit back, getting to his feet and tucking his chair in under the table.

“Where do you think you are going?” Emily yelled, straightening back up herself.

“Home. Thank you for a wonderful lunch as always, mother—”

“You have not been dismissed—”

“I am dismissing myself,”

“You bring disgrace on this family—”

“I will not apologize for falling in love, Mother; however little you approve of my choices,” Cas' voice remained calm though his heart was pounding with excitement, a thrill of anticipation rippling repeatedly beneath his skin. For years Cas had fantasized about walking away, with only the fear of total loneliness keeping him from attempting to do so. Loneliness, however, was something Cas no longer feared; he had enough people around him, he had Meg, and he had _Dean_. He had enough.

“How long have you even known this man?” Emily demanded, glaring at Cas in utter disbelief at what she obviously saw as his disobedience.

“Long enough to know that he is a good man. A kind one. One that—”

“Cassie... aww—”

“Gabriel, I thank you for your lift earlier; I will call myself a taxi—”

“If you dare walk out of this house now, Castiel, before I give you permission to—”

“Permission? Have I in some way regressed to the age of a teenager?”

“Your attitude might as well have. How can you be in love with someone you barely even know? With another _man_ of all people, when you know that it is wrong. How is this the first time we have heard about this _Dean_?”

“Mother,” Cas sighed, gripped tight to the back of his chair and finding his anger having completely evaporated, replaced with resignation and the need to be anywhere but there, “I have mentioned him on more than one occasion to you, however since you continually insist that I am somehow _pretending_ to be gay, rather than actually being it, and your clear disapproval of anyone other than who you deem fit, there seemed little point in forcing the issue,”

“Well, you're forcing the issue with me now, Castiel. You walk out that door now? Don't ever think you get to come back in. We'll cut you off; you'll have none of _our_ money, no family to turn to. You'll be entirely alone,”

“I'll still be here,” Gabe said in a staged whisper, leaning into his side; Cas turned slightly to smile his thanks at him then turned back to face his mother knowing that it might be for the very last time. And feeling _free_ for it, excited by the prospect.

“Mother. Aside from Gabriel I have been entirely alone in this family ever since Grandmother died; the idea is not a new one,” and with strength he didn't know he had, Cas gave a nod to his father, a clasp to Gabe's shoulder, and walked out of his parent's house, hearing his mother's shouts fading behind him as he went.

* * *

“Cas,”

Cas glanced up the extra foot he felt he needed to look at Sam's face, saw the surprise there at seeing him but also the welcome in his smile and sagged in relief. “Hello, Sam. I apologize for arriving unannounced—”

Sam's snort cut him off, and Cas found himself ushered in and nudged inside, the door firmly closed behind him. “You probably arrived just in time to rescue Dean from Jess,”

“Rescue?”

“Yeah,” Sam laughed, nodding the direction of the living room, “Dean's putting up some shelves for us. Jess is, uh, _helping_ ,”

Cas listened to the voices of Dean and Jess grow louder as they approached and felt himself beginning to smile at the exasperation in Dean's as he clearly tried to keep his impatience in check.

“Think you arrived at exactly the right time,” Sam mumbled, and as they rounded the corner whatever Dean had just said to Jess had earned him a slap around the back of the head.

“You're very lucky you're already injured, Dean Winchester, otherwise you'd be getting—”

“Hey, guys,” Sam called out to interrupt them, “look who's here,”

“Hey,”

The sheer joy in Dean's voice on seeing him released the tension held tight in Cas' chest; Dean was across the room in seconds after abandoning the screwdriver he was holding into Jess' hands, his arms up and over Cas' shoulders and leaning in for an immediate kiss. Cas sighed against him in relief, his hands wrapping around Dean's waist, the feel of Dean there beneath his fingers grounding Cas in a way he already couldn't be without.

“I didn't miss any messages from you, did I?” Dean asked, pulling back to look carefully over his face. They'd spent most of the previous night curled into one another in bed with Cas dreading seeing his mother so much he couldn't sleep; Dean had soothed him, kissed him thorough and long, reminded him he could leave the dinner at any time and he'd be waiting for him.

Under Dean's concerned gaze Cas' confession to his family about being in love with Dean came back to Cas, freezing his tongue and only allowing him to shake his head.

“Was it that bad?” Dean asked, screwing his face up in sympathy.

“Worse,” Cas managed to sigh, already too tired of rehashing the conversation again after doing so in his head for the entire taxi drive over and now attempting to push it out of his mind. He'd tell Dean about it later when they were alone; he had already listened without interrupting or judgment as Cas had told him about his family, holding his hand the entire time, stood beside him in solidarity when Gabe had finally talked him into going a few days ago.

“I coulda come got you,” Dean told him, soft and quiet and out of earshot of Sam and Jess.

“I took a taxi,” Cas mumbled back, sighing hard, “I apologize, Dean, I should have gone home,”

“Nope, you shoulda called me,” Dean argued, pulling him into a hug, one arm secure around his waist and the other to the back of his head, his fingertips pressing soothing circles there.

“Here,”

Cas looked up at Sam's voice and the sudden coldness nudging against his arm, taking the proffered bottle of beer and standing back just enough to take a grateful swig. Dean's hands slid to squeeze around Cas' waist then one slipped into Cas' and pulled him along and down next to him on the couch.

“Hey, Cas,” Jessica called, sinking down on the opposite couch with the screwdriver still twirling between her fingers, “family fun?”

“Am I that obvious?” Cas asked, laughing at himself and shaking his head, taking another sip of his beer and feeling Dean's fingers squeeze between his own in reassurance.

“It's not hard,” Jess said, grimacing in sympathy, “it's Sunday afternoon, you looking like you've got the weight of the world on your shoulders. You love your job so it's not Sunday blues. Obvious conclusion; family drama. Peak time for it,”

“It's why we're not at Jess' parent's this weekend,” Sam agreed, slumping down beside her after pushing a beer into both Dean and Jess' hands.

“My kid brother's decided to switch majors to follow this girl up the coast,” Jess explained, rolling her eyes, “I didn't feel like being there as referee,”

“'sides,” Dean added, still playing with Cas' fingers, “I promised to make burgers. Wouldn't wanna miss out on those, wouldya, huh, Jess?”

“I'm not stupid,” Jess snorted, winking back at him.

“Burgers sound delicious,” Cas agreed, realizing he'd only eaten a few mouthfuls of his lunch for all of the tension at the table. Dean pressed a kiss into his shoulder murmuring a question asking if he needed to eat anything before dinner; Cas shook his head to show that he didn't.

“Stay for dinner,” Sam said without hesitation. Cas looked to Jess' face smiling in agreement with Sam's offer, then Dean's hopeful-looking one, and found himself nodding back. Dean pressed a loud celebratory kiss to his cheek, and the rest of the afternoon was lost to easy conversation and an odd sense of belonging for Cas that allowed him to forget almost entirely about the disaster that had been his family dinner.

Later, Cas stood beside Dean as he cooked, accepting frequent kisses in between Dean's many attempts at making him laugh, and felt himself blush at the dinner table with Sam's assumption he would be staying the night made with teasing words about them not making too much noise. When they'd eaten, Cas looked down to Dean's tangling of their fingers together before he pulled Cas to his feet, then showered him with even more affection the second the bedroom door was closed. And later still, as Dean slid into him with sigh that spoke of relief, one hand cradling the back of his head as he bent down for frequent kisses interrupted with nothing but smiles and the sweetest words for him, Cas allowed himself to be loved and to feel in love, damning anyone and time itself if they believed it too soon.

* * *

“Looks good in here,”

Cas froze where he was sat behind the counter of Tea Tales relabelling some jars following a quick stock check, recognizing the voice of his father but not trusting his own ears enough to believe it. He looked up cautiously, seeing Chuck standing there taking a quiet glance around his surroundings, and was struck not for the first time how odd a couple his parents made.

Chuck's eyes finally settled on Cas', a tired smile transforming his face into one of kindness that Cas only ever got to see on the rare occasions he saw his father alone. Cas continued staring at him in silence as Chuck approached the counter and hopped up onto a stool on the other side.

“Dad,” and Cas couldn't keep his surprise at seeming him from tainting his voice. Chuck gave a rueful smile back that said it was exactly the reaction he'd been expecting and gave a minuscule raising of his shoulders.

“Hey, Cas,”

Cas lowered the jar in his hand on to the counter and rocked it there absently, feeling lost and out of his depth. “What are you... why are you here?”

Chuck let out a heavy sigh, stepping forward and dropping his elbows on the counter, rubbing a tired hand down his face. “Your mother's out of town. Thought I'd stop by,”

Cas nodded as he let that information sink in, schooling the surprise he felt and doing his best to keep his expression blank.

“You should... you should probably know that your mom was serious,” Chuck said then, soft and making it sound like an apology.

“About?”

Chuck shifted in discomfort that Cas knew wasn't coming from the stool he was now sat on, his fingers gripping tight around the jar still in his hands. It took him several attempts to speak but when he did, Chuck sounded defeated, and so full of regret. “Your mother has made amendments to our wills. She's written you out of them. You're, uh... she won't have you in the house again,”

Cas found himself nodding at his father's words, none of them coming as a revelation, instead finding his lack of concern for hearing them the actual thing giving him any kind of surprise. A tiny part of him wanted to ask Chuck what he thought for himself, but Cas held it in, unconvinced his father had had a thought of his own in years.

“I wish things were different,” Chuck added when Cas said nothing, pulling at the collar of his shirt and looking, as he always did, out of place in a suit.

“As do I,” Cas managed to mutter eventually, finally releasing the jar from his grip and instead unnecessarily straightening up things on the counter to keep his hands busy. Chuck continued staring back at him, and the uncharacteristic visit coupled with the look on his father's face left Cas feeling very much out of his depth.

“Couple of things maybe you don't know about me,” Chuck blurted out then, wriggling in his seat.

“Okay...”

“You know I met your mother in college. And that your grandpa was a lawyer. That he left me— _us_ , the family business when he died. So when I was a kid he insisted I go to law school, to follow in his footsteps so I could one day take over. Your mom was taking a class in the neighboring room in something like marketing, or business acumen, or whatever the hell it was back then—”

“Mom studied business administration,” Cas interrupted, nodding at Chuck's confirmation.

“Yeah. She's... she's good at that kind of thing. Saw the firm skyrocket when she took over all of that stuff,”

“I can imagine,”

Chuck gave a twist of a smile then that told Cas the images he was having, of his incredibly controlling mother waltzing in to the small family practice and making it essentially hers when Chuck's father had died of a heart attack more than ten years ago now, were entirely accurate. How his uncle Bartholomew, and even his uncle Zachariah cowed to her and whatever she demanded. How she had that much control over people Cas didn't know, but was very glad to find himself no longer affected by it.

“Anyway,” Chuck said, steepling his fingers together, “what you probably didn't know was that... when I met your mom, I was arguing with your Grandpa about changing my major, and I mean, constantly. I'd taken a couple of creative writing classes to make some numbers up and I... I'd always loved writing as a kid,”

Cas' eyes must have shown the surprise he was feeling judging from the way Chuck blasted out in contrite laughter. “Yeah, I'm afraid it's true, Cas. You take after your Dad in that respect, with your writing and all. Sorry and all that,”

“What happened?” Cas asked, picturing for himself his father in college, trying to marry up what he thought he knew with what he now was hearing.

“What do you think happened?” Chuck snorted, shaking his head. “I started dating your mother. Took her home to meet my parents—your grandparents. They kind of tag teamed me. Convinced me to... to keep studying law. I mean I'm good enough at it I guess, but... it's not where—it's not what I'd choose to do, if I'd ever given myself the choice,”

A wave of understanding hit Cas then, tendrils of sympathy for a father that had been distant, constantly arguing with his mother throughout Cas' childhood; so many of those arguments began to make a little sense for him finally, long after they had been the things that kept his young mind awake at night.

“Anyway,” Chuck sighed, pushing back against the counter, “then we got pregnant with your brother in your mom's final year. Sealed it; Dad made me a partner in the firm and insisted we got married—far too young, for both of those things—but then I couldn't really object, not with us having a baby on the way and no income to support us without your Grandpa's help,”

Cas felt himself shrinking down in discomfort at memories of countless angry words from his mother about both him and Gabriel being unwanted, unplanned children, as though it had been their fault choosing to be born. The words had slid right off of Gabe, who acted at least outwardly as though he couldn't care less, but to Cas it was just a reinforcement of not being wanted. Chuck noticed instantly and cleared his throat in discomfort showing he might be sharing that same memory.

“Anyway. I mean that's not really why I came down here,”

“So why did you come down here?” Cas repeated back to him, standing and gesturing over to the wall of ingredients behind him and at Chuck's nod, preparing them a pot of tea to share.

“Well,” Chuck began, tilting his chin in the direction of the cakes on display and making Cas smile; both Gabe and Chuck shared an insatiable sweet tooth, and at Cas pulling out the frosting-laden chocolate cake there Chuck clapped his hands together in approval, leaning forward in his seat. “I... I wanted you to know. That despite your mother's opinion and the choices that she's made... and that I... that my hands are tied...”

Chuck's voice trailed away; Cas continued carefully slicing them both a thick wedge of cake, biting back the urge to tell his father to get a backbone and stand up to his mother. When he slid the plate in front of Chuck and handed him a fork, Chuck scooped up a mouthful immediately and hummed in thorough approval of the taste. Cas made a mental note to add more of the cake to his order.

“I wanted to say,” Chuck began again, his voice thickened by the frosting, “that whatever your mom thinks... whatever her views on... on things—on _you_. They're... they're not views I happen to share,”

“Dad?”

“I'm proud of you. Of whatever you do. Of whatever you've done. Whatever choices you make... and whoever you—whoever you, uh, love,”

“Dad,” Cas repeated, finding his voice thickening with unshed tears.

“I can't... I've... I can't do much to... to change your mother's mind. And I... I doubt whilst we're both alive I can do anything to change that will. But... but I wanted you to know. I'm... I know I've not been much of a father to you, but I'm still... I'm still here. I mean I'd still like to be here, if you'll let me come and visit...”

A memory of his mother came to Cas then, of being sat on a pile of cushions with his tiny fingers fisting ever tighter into the fabric of them, listening and repeating with an increasing sense of desperation for disappointing her as she berated him for his lazy speech, forcing him into formal words too serious for his young tongue – and that Gabriel had always managed to avoid having to use. Cas remembered his father, stood to one side, folded armed and staring down at him with such sorrow on his face, as though willing Cas to understand it wasn't his choice, not him wanting to change anything about him, but also doing nothing to do anything about it.

Coming back to the present, Cas felt he perhaps understood his father a little better for his visit. Recognising him as too weak-willed, too easily-bent by other people's persuasion to allow himself to have much of a voice, to have a life of his own. This visit to Tea Tales; this was such a big deal for him, then. And in that very moment, Cas found himself feeling sorry for his father as he never had before.

Cas lifted the now brewed tea with two hands, not trusting his trembling fingers to pour without spilling the tea everywhere. After he passed Chuck his cup Chuck reached out to give his hand a quick, awkward squeeze then dropped it away again, the heat of it leaving Cas' hand much slower and adding to the feeling of being overwhelmed.

“And I'd like... when you're ready, that is. If it's okay with you. If it's okay with you both. I'd... I'd really like to meet Dean sometime. When you're both ready of course,”

Cas stared back at his father then thinking he might not have ever truly known him, shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth to stop himself saying anything like that out loud.

* * *

 

  
  



	14. An opportunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

“I don't know, Meg,”

“You say that like I'm giving you any choice,”

Dean looked to Cas for help, and whilst he received the supportive squeeze of his hand, the look on Cas' face was nothing but resigned apology and a firm _you're on your own_.

“I'm not... I'm not _qualified_ ,” Dean protested, shaking his head and attempting to avoid Meg's pinning stare.

“You're a firefighter,”

“Former,” Dean argued back, finally grown comfortable with the idea even if it meant he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do next.

“Look,” Meg livid with impatience, folding her arms in a stance that told Dean he was wasting both his and her time, “all you gotta do is tell a bunch of teenagers why fire— _bad,_ safety — _good_ , and then you can go home. Maybe Cas'll give you a little treat for—”

“Meg,” Cas protested, glaring at his best friend to cut her off then squeezing Dean's hand again against his lap.

“Like you wouldn't give him a reward for—”

“Meg,” Dean cut her off himself, shaking his head, “I don't... I don't know about... I don't know if I _can —_”

“Sure you can,” Meg drawled at him, patting a condescending hand against his cheek and standing to tell him that the conversation was over.

“I—”

“Monday. I'll pick you up. Cas'll text me your brother's address if you're not already warming his bed. Be ready. Need to be at the school at eight-thirty sharp so you got time to set things up: if you'dve called me earlier like I _told_ Cas to tell you to do, you'dve had more time to prepare,” Meg told him, all whilst scrolling through her phone dismissing him once again, “I'll see you tomorrow,” she added, aiming it at Cas as she stepped forward to half-wrap one arm around his waist then waltzing out of the cafe and leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her, leaning in to one another and groaning.

“So,” Dean began moments later when he'd found the ability to speak again, dragging his eyes back to Cas' still pleading for help, “what did I just not agree to?”

Cas pressed a consolatory kiss to his check and wrapped him up in a hug, sighing into his ear. “Meg is responsible for the school's health and safety briefings this semester. Fire safety has not yet been done to the school's liking; Meg has decided you are going to rectify that,”

“I don't even know if I can,” Dean protested again, leaning in a little tighter to Cas' hug and feeling him sag against him.

“I will... I will talk to her,” Cas offered, though it was pretty obvious from the doubt in his voice he didn't think it would do either of them much good.

“I mean... I'm sure Jody, the fire chief I met, would be happy to give me a bunch of materials and stuff,” Dean mumbled into Cas' shoulder, smiling at the kiss to the side of his head whilst ideas stirred themselves awake, stretching and yawning and making themselves known.

“You do not have to—”

“And Charlie volunteers at the school sometimes. Helps the younger kids with math and reading and stuff; guess she could give me a few pointers,”

Cas pulled back, lightly gripping around Dean's upper arms to look at his face, frowning as he did. “Are you considering this, Dean? Seriously?”

Gripping his fingers light around Cas' waist Dean let out another sigh, shrugging in defeat. “Don't sound like I got a lot of choice in the matter, does it?”

“Meg is... persuasive,” Cas grumbled, sliding his hands back up Dean's arms and looping them around his neck.

“That's... not the word I'd use,” Dean laughed, shaking his head, “but since she's your friend and all—”

“Believe me,” Cas replied, leaning in to kiss him, “I have been on the receiving end of Meg's... persuasions on numerous occasions. You may call her what you like,”

“Oh, you have, have you?” Dean replied with a smirk and a teasing arch to his voice. Cas rolled his eyes and pressed himself closer up against Dean, nuzzling against his cheek.

“I forgot that Meg has actually met Charlie before,” he said then, mouthing along Dean's neck. Dean closed his eyes at the feel of Cas' lips on him and smiled to himself.

“Yeah, she said that. Charlie, I mean; said she ran into Meg in the staff room one day, got into a discussion about swords or something,”

“Worrying, but unsurprising,”

“Why unsurprising?” Dean laughed, stroking a firm hand round Cas' waist and leaving it there in the center of his back.

“Meg has a selection of weaponry on display in her apartment; ornamental allegedly, though I have thankfully never been on her wrong side long enough to ever find out if that is truly the case. Charlie attempted to convince Meg to join her LARPing, unsuccessfully. I believe they exchange messages from time to time,”

Dean let that information sink in then laughed into Cas' shoulder, shaking his head there. “Our friends are scary,”

“Terrifying,”

* * *

The thought of Meg's demand, because Dean couldn't in any way call it an offer, was still on his mind later that evening. Cas was at a birthday dinner for one of his friends from his poetry recital, and despite an invitation to come with him Dean had felt like he needed to give Cas a little space. They spent so much time together and yet Dean still didn't feel like it was enough; taking an enforced break seemed like a good thing to do so that he didn't get too clingy, because the last thing Dean wanted to do was push Cas away.

Dean had dropped in to the fire station and spent an hour talking to Jody and some of the crew, and instead of the feeling of being an outsider Dean had been expecting he'd been nothing but welcomed, leaving much later than he'd intended with armfuls of materials he could use in his visit to the high school.

After a quick dinner with Sam, Dean was sat at the kitchen table with his laptop and a notebook to hand, the materials spread out far and wide, pausing briefly to heat up a plate for an exhausted-looking Jess when she came in off of her shift. The more he planned, the more Dean surprised himself by how excited he was by the idea, and the more excited he grew, the more distracted he became. It took Sam throwing a balled up sheet of paper at his head to finally get his attention, which Dean grabbed up from where it had fallen and threw it back without even looking.

“You're really getting into this,” Sam observed around the paper flying towards his forehead, dropping a beer down to Dean's side at the table and sliding in to the seat next to him, glancing over Dean's work.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's good,” Dean replied, so engrossed in what he was reading it took Sam physically sliding the bottle of beer in front of him for Dean to stop to take a break, “feels good to be actually _doing_ something that might be useful, you know?”

“So? What's the deal?” Sam asked, glancing over the screen and picking up one of the safety flyers Dean had collected from the station earlier to flick through. Dean allowed himself a long stretch then scooped up his beer taking a grateful glug of it.

“Meg—Cas' friend—”

“The angry scary one at Tea Tales who glares at you like you've asked for a slice of her soul instead of fudge brownie?”

“Yeah that one,” Dean grinned, liking Sam's description, “she kind of... she's decided I'm giving a fire safety lecture to a bunch of teenagers. I got six... eight groups to speak to,”

“Well, no offense, 'cos clearly you're qualified for this,” Sam began; Dean raised an eyebrow at the caution in Sam's tone, nodding for him to go on, “don't you have to have like... I don't know. All kindsa certification and... and background checks and stuff to go into schools like this?”

“Exactly what I asked, amongst a whole bunch of other stuff,” Dean agreed, tapping his fingers on a list of the licensing and certification needed for a full time fire safety officer that he'd looked up an hour or so previously, “apparently as I'm doing it voluntarily as a one-off, with a written recommendation from the station chief – I didn't even know Meg had asked her for one 'till I got to the station this afternoon—” Dean laughed, shaking his head.

“She's determined,” Sam snorted, taking a sip of his beer.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed again, drumming his fingers, “yeah, she's that. Uh, anyway. Jody said based on Bobby's recommendation letter she had no objection; remind me to buy the old guy some of that whiskey Ellen won't let him have,”

“Done,”

“So. Since I'm volunteering— _being_ volunteered more like—it's all fine. Apparently. I'm just gonna show up, do what I gotta do and get the hell outta there 'for anyone asks me any questions,” which wasn't true; Dean had spent a good hour trying to anticipate each and every question, scribbling himself down notes on how he planned to answer them.

“But do you actually wanna do this?” Sam pressed, nudging at one of the stacks of flyers and having to rescue them from falling off the table.

Dean asked himself the question again and found the answer the same as it had done every time. “Worth a short. I mean... it's one day outta my not-busy-schedule. If I can't... if I can't be a firefighter anymore, and I can't figure out what I'd retrain as... maybe this'll help me figure something out,”

“You're... you're looking good,”

Dean looked up to see Sam staring down at the table, nodding to himself. He kept staring until Sam lifted his eyes to look at him, and was greeted with a small smile.

“I mean... past few months... it's... you're getting better. You're looking better,”

There were about a million glib comments that Dean felt he could make then, but instead he held them in, and found himself nodding in agreement. “Yeah, Sammy. I'm... yeah. I'm feeling better, you know?”

“You've... I mean you spend a lot of nights at Cas'... but when you're here, I don't... I don't hear you having nightmares like before,”

“I'm still having 'em sometimes,” Dean sighed, shrugging to try to show how little it bothered him now, “but they're like... nothing like before. I... I'm sleeping real well. Like... I can get a good few hours in without... without even waking,”

“And the scarring? Stiffness?”

“All good,” Dean smiled, “I mean... scarring's not going anywhere. I still look like an RTA in places, but... but I've got almost full mobility again, and... yeah. It's... I'm getting there, anyway,”

“You're doing great, Dean,” Sam told him, the pride in his voice making Dean shift in slight discomfort.

“I got Cas to thank for so much of this,” Dean said then, knowing how much truth there was to his words. He and Cas made sense in a way Dean had never thought he'd get to have, never known was a possibility for him even before the fire. Cas never did anything that made him doubt himself, and any disagreements they had were minimal and discussed without hesitance or difficulty. And though neither of them had yet said the words out loud there was love there, and trust, comfort for each other. It was reassuring to him, and Dean hoped just as reassuring to Cas; even if Dean did occasionally feel a few misplaced sparks of jealousy in his gut, berating himself for them each and every time they tried to rise up.

“Ah, I reckon you're probably good for each other,” Sam shrugged, rolling his shoulders and fighting back a yawn.

“You getting any sleep?” Dean frowned at him then, taking in the bags under Sam's eyes and preparing a lecture about him working too hard.

“Yeah. Just gotta get through two more weeks of this caseload and then we're in court; should calm down once the trial's actually on, which sounds crazy, I know,”

“I get it,” Dean smiled, having witnessed enough of Sam's workload now to know that was generally how it worked out for him, “you should take some time. You and Jess; get away for a weekend at least,”

“Yeah,” Sam snorted, “so you can have Cas over here and christen every surface?”

“Please. Like we haven't already done that when you and Jess are out at work,”

The way Sam spluttered on the mouthful of beer he'd just taken, was, Dean thought, worth it.

“Dude—”

“I'm kidding,” Dean laughed, waving an absent hand and rapidly typing as yet another idea for his fire talk came to him.

“Good—”

“...maybe,”

“I don't wanna know,” Sam protested, adamantly shaking his head and pushing back a little in his seat, leaving Dean grinning to himself.

“He's coming over for dinner tomorrow,” Dean added, mentally going over a grocery list.

“Good, I've been meaning to come into Tea Tales and drop off this magazine I saw I think he'd like; he can take it when he's here instead,”

That Sam had been so accepting of Cas, embracing him into their strange little family unit without even questioning it, Dean was silently grateful for, even if he would never say it out loud. Cas' family life was in some ways even more messed up than their own; Cas had only let Dean be completely alone with Gabe on one occasion since they'd got together for fear of the outrageousness that was Gabe, but it had been long enough for him to give a brief outline of Cas' childhood that left Dean wanting to reach out and hold him close indefinitely. Even more than usual.

“He might stay over,” Dean added, wording it in a way that sounded like a statement but was laden with request, which he knew was ridiculous and unnecessary but still found himself doing even after all this time. Sam shrugged easily, taking another swig of his beer.

“You tell me which rooms I gotta keep me and Jess out of—”

“Sammy—”

“And you won't even know we're here,” Sam finished with, glee lighting up his eyes as he snorted with mirth.

“Hey,” Dean protested, shaking his head, “we're not gonna—”

Sam interrupted him by putting his hands over his ears and humming out loud.

“Sammy—”

Sam's humming grew even louder until Dean reached out to drag one of his arms down, glaring at him but helpless against it morphing into a smile.

“Do what you want, Dean,” Sam grinned, shrugging his shoulders, “this is your home, okay? Do whatever you want. I'm gonna... I'm gonna do another half hour then go up to bed,” and with that Sam was standing again, draining his bottle whilst clasping on to Dean's shoulder then leaving him in silence once again.

Dean peered over his shoulder after Sam for a moment then groaned out loud and laughed, checking his phone to find a series of pictures from Cas showing him what he'd eaten for dinner, thumbed back a quick reply, then returned back to his laptop to continue making notes.

* * *

Dean watched the final group of students leaving the classroom he'd taken over for the day and let out a soft groan. Charlie, who had slipped away from helping out in the library and crept in to watch Dean's last talk, waited for the door to click closed and then was up on her feet and squealing, rushing at Dean with her arm extended for a high five. The slap of their palms together echoed out into the room, and without even knowing he was about to do it Dean picked Charlie up to spin her, laughing out hard as he did.

“We did it,”

“ _You_ did it,” Charlie corrected him, punching him lightly on the shoulder to be let down, “you were awesome; kids sat there like you'd got them under a spell or something,”

“I don't know about that—”

“You do,” Charlie insisted, this time punching him on his arm, “you're a natural,”

The compliment had Dean cuffing at the back of his neck, turning away from her so she couldn't see the blush to his cheeks and beginning to tidy up. The good night's sleep he'd had at Cas' had set him up well for the day, with Cas getting up to make him breakfast then pulling Meg to one side and gesticulating at her wildly, with whatever he'd said to her keeping Meg from being her worst on the drive to school. How Cas had managed to convince him to let Meg drive him instead of following her in the Impala Dean had to quickly rein in his grin at remembering; Dean schooled it in, seconds before Charlie was standing in front of him with a barrage of excited questions.

Dean's nerves had kicked in five minutes before the first group of students arrived, but five minutes after their arrival and it had all but disappeared; he felt relaxed and confident and didn't flinch once even with the most difficult of questions the kids threw at him. Already Dean had ideas about more interactive lectures and some further resources he could do with if he got the chance to do this again, maybe arranging some visits to the station for younger kids, his mind brimming with plans and racing with the adrenalin of a successful day.

“Gotta go, gotta go,” Charlie squealed after glancing at her watch, shoving the papers she had just picked up into Dean's waiting hands, “celebratory drinks tonight?”

“Can't,” Dean smiled after her, “Cas is cooking for me,”

“Course he is,” Charlie beamed, saluting and rushing out leaving Dean to straighten up the remaining chairs, give a final glance around the room to check everything was in order fearing the wrath of Meg if he didn't, then made his way out.

It was odd walking down the high school corridors, hearing the murmurings of lessons going on behind the walls and not being a part of them. It was even more odd being able to walk into the staff room to ask where he'd find Meg and to be invited straight in, without any questioning aside from a brief glance over the visitor pass hung around his neck; a tired-looking math teacher with sticky-up hair to rival even Cas' gave him directions to Meg's office after offering him an open bag of chips, which Dean ate a handful of on the route it took him past the library and earned himself a Vulcan salute from Charlie as he did.

Predictably, when Meg waved him into her office after Dean had wrapped his knuckles against the door, she was giving someone hell. Whoever was on the other end of that phone call must have been wincing and cowering in a corner somewhere, he was sure of it, following Meg's pointing finger for where to leave the small amount of paperwork she'd asked him to fill in.

“Wait,” Meg commanded into the phone, covering the receiver with her hand and arching an eyebrow up at him. “Good work today, Dean; I was almost impressed,”

Dean fought against letting his lips twitch up into a smile. “Thanks,”

“I'll get the skinny from the kids later, but you looked like you knew what you were doing,”

“Uh...”

“Wanna stick around?” Meg asked, gesturing at the chair opposite her desk and making it sound as though he didn't have a choice. Dean went through a quick route in his head of how long it would take him to walk back and found himself slumping into it.

“You giving me a lift back?”

“Promised Cas I'd deliver you back in one piece,” Meg smiled, the glint in her eye that had probably intimidated a thousand students by now not quite having the same effect on Dean, having been on the receiving end of it already at least a dozen times.

“You gonna be here?”

“I have some people to make uncomfortable,” Meg drawled back at him, returning to her phone call and leaving Dean to flinch on the recipient's behalf. As he half-listened to the conversation Dean checked his phone, grinning at the string of encouraging messages from just about everyone and taking a little time to answer every one of them back.

Before the fire, because Dean's life was so very starkly divided by that event, Dean could go days without receiving messages from anyone but Sam. He saw Bobby at the station, Ellen had him around for dinner as much as she could force on him, and aside from his Dad, who up until Sam, Bobby and Ellen had helped him pack up their house he'd never even realised had had a phone of his own, there had been no one else in his life at all. But now, looking down at all his good luck messages had a humble kind of warmth growing in Dean's chest. Charlie's friends had become Dean's friends; Dean had met up both Ash and Benny separately himself a few times since he'd first been introduced. Dean even had the numbers of a couple of Cas' friends from the poetry recital nights stored in his phone, along with Gabe's and Meg's.

Dean was settled here, he realized, surprised it had taken him quite so long to realize it; not in this tiny office with Meg loudly berating someone down the phone, but in this town. For the first time in his life Dean found himself seriously thinking beyond just the next day; he wasn't exactly sat there planning an apple pie life for himself, but he was considering what it would be like to put down proper roots here. To move out of Sam's house and into his own apartment, or better still, an apartment with Cas.

Meg's phone call ended then, and the wicked smile she gave him had Dean wondering if she'd been reading his mind. But then she was barking instructions at him not to touch anything, sliding a pad of lined paper over to him when he asked for one and telling him they'd be leaving in about an hour. The moment the office door closed Dean was pitching forward, grabbing a pen, and scribbling down all his ideas from earlier about future fire safety talks.

* * *

Dean chewed on his lip trying to hold in his nervous impatience, watching Jody as she carefully read through the small stack of paperwork Dean had pushed across her desk after calling to arrange a meeting. Every page she turned had his heart giving an uncomfortable thump, made worse by the perfectly neutral expression on Jody's face that gave him no clues at all to what she was thinking. Another tense few minutes and Jody was turning over the final sheet of paper and splaying her fingers over it against the desk, slowly raising her eyes up to look at Dean.

“You've put a lot of thought into this,” she told him after staring back for what felt like several more minutes that did nothing to ease the threadiness of Dean's heart. He'd spent what felt like four solid days going over and over all the information he could get his hands on to put something together that he was quietly very proud of, and was sat there half-terrified Jody was about to pick it all apart.

“Uh... I guess?” Immediately Dean's hand was to the back of his neck and cuffing, and a thousand possible replies assaulting him fighting to be let out.

“This is really, really good,” Jody enthused with a pleased, encouraging smile, “I think this would be an amazing programme to implement in the schools and colleges around here. And,” she said, typing rapidly at her laptop for a second then smiling a touch wider at the screen, “you've got a glowing report from Meg Masters; I didn't know she had it in her to say a kind word about anyone,”

Dean snorted, curious and wondering if Jody would let him see the report, then how he'd ever look Meg in the eye again if he did read it. “How'd you know Meg?”

“Donna; Donna Hanscum,” Jody answered, and there was an immediate softening affection in both her voice and expression, “Donna works at the PD here; works with the schools sometimes when there's safety campaigns. Done a few sessions at the high school Meg works at like you've just done. Donna says Meg should work in interrogation; she'd get everyone to confess in a heartbeat without even breaking a sweat, apparently,”

“Gotta be honest,” Dean shook his head, laughing, “learning a whole other side to Meg through all this. I—I'dve never thought she'd be the one to get all this kinda stuff done, you know?”

“From what Donna tells me Meg gets the job done. She's blunt, to the point, won't bend for no one. But she's good at what she does,”

“I haven't seen her teach for myself, but I do hear good things about it,”

“How'd you know Meg?” Jody turned the question on him, curiosity written all over her face.

“Uh... Meg went to college with – is best friends with, my, uh, my boyfriend,” and as had happened each and every time Dean had reason to say the word, he had an odd twist of excitement in his gut for having the chance to say _boyfriend_ out loud. It wasn't enough, not big enough a word to cover all that Cas meant to him, especially after Cas had in his beautiful, halted, stumbling way told him how he felt about him; how could Dean feel anything but humble, and proud?

“I take it the, uh, _other side_ you already know then is more, uh... Liam Neeson-esque?” Jody laughed, oblivious to Dean's mind drifting as it never ceased doing to thoughts of Cas, groaning as though she was imagining exactly that.

“If you're meaning Liam Neeson in Taken 'stead of Love Actually, then yeah; exactly that,”

“Man, I love that film,” Jody sighed, though Dean couldn't tell which one she meant, “what's your boyfriend do?”

“He, uh. Cas owns Tea Tales. You know, the—”

“Cafe without café,” Jody finished for him with an awful French accent, chuckling to herself. When Dean's expression caught her attention Jody rolled her eyes at herself and shifted in her seat. “That's what Donna calls it, bad accent and all; keeps dragging me in there for this hot fudge brownie cake, that's delicious by the way. Bought me a flask of tea here just last week when I said I had a headache that wouldn't shift,”

Dean took in the return of affection in Jody's voice for mentioning Donna and let his own curiosity build, but answered only with, “Yeah. Jess—my sister-in-law—swears by that stuff,”

“Between you and me—and meaning no offense,” Jody said, leaning across the desk towards him, “I mean it's a great cafe. Food's amazing—”

“Makes a good amount of it himself; only gets the rest from places he trusts,” Dean interrupted with pride, beaming at her then gesturing for her to go on.

“It's great,” Jody repeated, beaming back herself, “but... between you and me? Place is lacking a certain, essential ingredient,”

“Coffee,” Dean agreed, nodding rapidly, “I've been telling him that since we first met,”

“How did you meet?”

“In Tea Tales,” Dean laughed, groaning at himself, “Sam dragged me in there, I ended up stumbling across the place again when I saw a sign for homemade soup. Started hanging out, and, well, here we are,”

“That's a great story,” Jody told him, a wistful smile on her face.

“How about you?” Dean asked, immediately cursing himself for it for the sadness that took over Jody's face.

“I, uh... well. Lost my husband a few years back. Just me and my son now. Me and... I'dve been sorta lost without Donna. Me and Donna have known each other since high school—same one Meg teaches at actually,” Jody smiled then, her face awash with memories and her voice trailing off leaving her explanation unfinished.

“So,” Dean prompted sensing she wanted a change of subject, nodding towards the stack of papers once again.

“So,” Jody smiled, “I think it's a great idea. I've—I've been asking for funding for years for an actual dedicated fire safety officer; not just for this,” she said, rustling the paper, “but you know. Someone to give... to do safety checks—”

“Safety checks?” Dean repeated, shaking his head, not clear on what she meant.

“Yeah. Back when I was a kid – my dad was sergeant here forever ago – there used to be a designated officer that would go around all the municipal buildings – you know. Police. Local government and all, 'cos god knows they're the worst for locking fire exits and setting toasters on fire. At the moment I have a rota system with the guys here to go and check things out as and when it's needed, but. If we can get the funding for a full-time position, kind of... carve you a roll,” Jody's raised eyebrow dared Dean to disagree, “frees my guys up to do what they're supposed to be doing. Everyone wins,”

“Seriously?” was all Dean could reply with, his heart thudding at the circling of possibilities that were so far beyond even his biggest hopes, and at the same time telling himself not to get too excited.

“Seriously,” Jody agreed, tapping the papers in her hand again, “I see you've done your research. You know what certification and stuff you'd have to go through. There's all kinds of security checks involved just to get things down on paper, and you'd still need to go through a medical or two. I still need to put another proposal together for creating the post, 'cos I'd kind of abandoned the idea for a while. But if you're happy to help me come up with something there's a real possibility we can make this thing happen. I don't know, Dean,” Jody said then, slapping her hands down on the desk and smiling at him, “feels like you walked into my station at the exact right time,”

Dean sat back in his chair, his head now swimming. When he'd put together some information for Jody he'd been tentatively thinking that perhaps if he couldn't do anything else, maybe he could give these school talks once in a while, ease himself back into work that way and maybe along the way pick something else up to do as well. But if what Jody was suggesting was even possible, this could be a way back into the fire service without having to attend any actual fires. And though part of him would probably always miss doing that, the way he was currently Dean couldn't see how he'd be able to do that again any time soon with any kind of safety – or even ever again.

“It's only an if,” Jody reiterated in warning, obviously taking in the excitement in Dean's eyes, “though I think we've got a good chance of putting something together. Might take a few months—”

“I'm in no hurry,” Dean fired back at her, going between not being able to believe his luck and not letting himself get too invested already.

“Then let's see if we can get this done. I'll forward you what I've already put together; there's a ton of questions we need to give decent answers to so we can get that funding; wanna see what you can add?”

Dean watched Jody's fingers rapidly typing and clicking away at her laptop, heard the ping of notification to tell him he'd received an email on his phone, then walked back to the car a few minutes later feeling slightly dazed, but brimming with excitement. He thought about messaging Cas, and Sam, and even Bobby but then talked himself out of it, telling himself not to get too worked up over something that might come to nothing.

Sitting in the car to calm himself for a few moments Dean was then firing up the engine, knowing he couldn't keep the news to himself indefinitely even if it was just a maybe. He steered the car out, already decided on going to Cas first, knowing his rational way of thinking would tell him one way or another if he was getting his hopes up too high. The drive to Tea Tales was barely ten minutes, and being able to pull straight into his usual parking spot just notched up the good feeling buzzing in Dean's chest.

Swinging the door of Tea Tales open perhaps a little too enthusiastically, Dean's eyes sought out Cas, looking past the customer sitting at the counter in his own usual seat and beyond to the kitchen where he heard noises telling him Cas was in there preparing something.

“Cassie, you have a customer,”

The accent hit Dean seconds after he actually heard it as the customer sitting at the counter swiveled on the stool to give him an appraising look up and down. He heard Cas hurrying himself up, felt his heart beginning to beat erratically, glanced over to Cas' face morphing from calm professional to panic-stricken as he leaned out of the kitchen doorway to announce he needed another minute, and everything clicked into place.

Dean turned immediately on his heel and ran from the cafe, hearing Cas calling after him but ignoring it, desperate to get away. Dean threw himself back into the car, forced his trembling hands to grip the steering wheel and sped away, thinking of nothing but the need to escape.

* * *

 

  



	15. Unwelcome events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, life did that thing where it interfered/got difficult
> 
> x

**Cas**

Cas squeezed his pant pocket for what had to be the fiftieth time to make sure the key he'd had cut that morning was still there, and told himself not to be an idiot. It was little more than a gesture giving Dean a key to his apartment; Dean spent so much of his time there now it was already as though he'd long ago moved in. But the sense of formality about it was bigger than that, because it meant assumptions about a future together; at least, that's where Cas' mind was already taking him when he thought about it. Step one; giving Dean a key. Step two; taking the very few belongings Dean actually had stored up at Sam's place and moving them in along with Dean himself. Step three; live together, in some idyllic, drama-free domestic bliss Cas found himself daydreaming about from time to time, then cursing at himself for, for its unreality. Step four; buy a place together, and all the things that might entail. Shared home, shared property, perhaps one day shared names. Yet again Cas had to chide himself for letting his imagination run riot, and busied himself in the kitchen.

This past couple of weeks had been incredible for he and Dean, both separately and together. Together they were always good, but falling asleep in Dean's bedroom last week with Dean's face buried in his chest and his lips mumbling an absent _I love you_ into his skin, and Cas' heart had felt like it was attempting to climb out of his chest with the happiness he felt. Since then the affection between them had been even sweeter, and a couple of days ago Cas had found the courage to say those very words out loud. Dean's eyes had filled up and given away how he was feeling despite his gruff reply of _I love you back_. But Dean had more than compensated for his sharpness by leading Cas to his bedroom and into his bed, and whispering it to him over and over as he'd _made_ love to him; Cas' chest swelled with the reminder of it even then.

Cas himself was writing with abandon again, the words for his on-again-off-again book flowing through him as though he'd been storing them up for years. At Dean's encouragement, he'd put forward a few short stories to an online publisher that had been snapped up, and the longer stories that he'd added to intermittently over the years were either now complete or at least at proof-reading stage.

And Dean, Cas thought, smiling and so full of pride for him, Dean was just incredible. A glib conversation between he and Meg over a dinner some weeks ago had turned into that day of fire safety talks at the high school, with Meg singing his praises in the only way she knew how – sarcastically and with mock-contempt, and Dean practically fizzing with excitement when telling him about it that night. Dean had spent much of the past week in the corner at Tea Tales, typing and scribbling away and planning future talks, telling Cas repeatedly when he took him over something to eat or drink that he wasn't getting his hopes up, but that it _might be good for Jody to have some stuff on file_.

Dean was currently down at the station talking to Jody, and was coming to stay again that night, planning on first sitting and listening to Cas that evening as it was Book Night. Cas checked his phone yet again to see if there were any new messages to answer then told himself to stop procrastinating and get on with preparing what he needed to bake.

Claire rushed in a little later in a clatter of noise and chatter, plucking Cas' list from his fingers and some cash from the till before breezing back out again, leaving Cas smiling after her and not having picked up a single thing she'd said. He had just enough time to put another cake in the oven before she returned again, helping him slot away all of her purchases before she disappeared once more, bemoaning an afternoon lecture but promising to be back on time to help him out in the evening.

When the door chimed once more, Cas chuckled to himself, arms already wrist-deep in flour again as he prepared the crust for a pie he was intending on Dean sampling first before anyone else got to try it. Not wanting to call out in case it was a customer rather than Claire returning in a hurry from forgetting something Cas quickly rubbed the mixture from his hands into the bowl and stumbled out of the kitchen, arms turned upwards at the elbows in the hope that his pastry-stained fingers wouldn't shed too much mess on to the floor.

“Hello, love,”

Cas came to an abrupt, stumbling stop just outside the doorway, staring wide-eyed back at Balthasar who smiled at him somewhere between wildly and widely from across the counter. Balt's eyes drifted down to Cas' floured-up fingers and crinkled up in amused affection before glancing back up again at his face.

“What culinary delights are you magicking up this afternoon, Cassie?”

Cas' mouth was too stuck for him to be able to answer though, instead staring back at Balt as though he might be an apparition. He half-wished he was; Cas hadn't thought about Balthasar in so long now, the wounds of his rapid departure long-since healed even if they had left scars. Cas' mind was so full of Dean that all the self-doubt and deprecation that used to be a constant companion had no room for voice: Balt standing before him was a reminder to Cas of a version of himself he'd long since grown out of, and had no place for in his life anymore.

“What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Balt tried again when Cas didn't answer him. Cas finally found himself unsticking from the spot and nodded, walking back into the kitchen and washing his hands clean with precision then returning, drying them thoroughly on a towel as he continued staring back at Balthasar in thorough astonishment at his presence.

“What are you doing here?”

“What sort of welcome is that for your old friend—”

“We are not friends,” Cas retorted, bristling with indignance, clutching the towel hard between his fingers for a moment then hanging it back on its hook. He watched Balt's shoulders drop and the purse of his lips, then the nonchalant way he hopped up on to the stool Cas had come to think of as _Dean's_ and steepled his fingers together against the counter, looking back at him expectantly.

“Anything to say for yourself, Cassie?”

“I would think that since it is you visiting me, that perhaps it is you who has something that needs to be said,” Cas kept staring back, forcing himself not to flinch at the pointedness of his own tone and watching the now-unfamiliar emotions morphing across Balt's face.

“You always were observant—”

“Clearly not, since I had no idea you were leaving until the day you did,” Cas bit back, then laughed at himself. For months after Balt's departure Cas had tortured himself for not knowing, for not recognizing that there was anything wrong between them. For a good couple of years after that he'd found himself concocting fantasies about all kinds of snippy, snooty replies he would have should he ever see Balthasar again. Now, having him sat there right in front of them Cas found himself completely disinterested in saying anything at all to him, snide or otherwise.

“Cassie—”

“Why are you here,” Cas demanded, eager for Balthasar to already be gone.

“I could lie and say I was in the area,” Balt said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Do not,”

Balt's hands raised in the air in surrender and his sigh came out in a blast. Cas stared at him for another moment then rolled his eyes, turning away to prepare a pot of tea.

“How about we start this conversation over?” Balt called in suggestion; Cas gripped hard around the jar in his hand and bit back an unpleasant retort.

“As you wish,”

“If you can believe it, I am here to apologize,”

Cas whirled on his heel in surprise, letting out a disbelieving snort of laughter. “Could you repeat that, Balthasar? I did not know you were capable of such a thing,”

“I—”

“In all the time we were together, any justification for your behavior was only ever given in the form of excuses,”

For a moment Cas thought Balt might be about to deny that then watched his shoulders slump further still and his head nod slowly in defeat that had Cas squaring his shoulders in vindication. “You turned your flirtations into my paranoia and jealousy. Your bad temper into my _fussing_. Your —”

“Okay, okay,” Balt pleaded, hands up and out again asking for silence. Cas took a breath to calm himself, aggravated that apparently he did have some residual anger there after all, and turned away again to add water to the pot.

“How is Meg?” Balt asked then, making Cas roll his eyes again.

“She is well. I can invite her if—”

“No,” Balt blasted out with his eyes blowing comically wide, rapidly shaking his head, “no, this is a cordial visit. I don't wish to have my innards exposed by your hell hound—”

Cas slamming down the teapot on the side and glaring back at him had Balt sighing again and sitting back, almost toppling from his stool in the process.

“I didn't come here to fight,”

“So why _did_ you come here,” Cas demanded again, spinning away for cups then folding his arms tight across his chest, needing to do something with his hands for the distraction.

“I told you; to apologize,”

“After all this time,” Cas retorted, disbelieving.

“It has played on my mind—” but Cas was cutting him off again with a snort, shaking his head. “Okay. I understand, Cassie. I understand why you would still be cross with me. I earned that, and I truly am sorry for leaving the way I did,”

Cas glanced up from the teapot when Balthasar stopped speaking, expecting a string of excuses and surprised when there were none. Balt even looked contrite, sincerity setting his jaw and his eyes asking for if not forgiveness, then at least the chance to attempt to explain. Cas gave one single, slow nod, sat down on his own stool and poured them tea, waiting for Balt to speak.

“Look. Back then, for all I accused you of being directionless... without ambition. It was I who was adrift. I who lacked any sense of purpose, or planning,”

“I believe most people feel like that,” Cas replied, swirling the cup in his hand as he continued watching Balthasar back, taking in the familiar low cut t-shirt exposing half his chest and holding back a snort that he'd every found something like that attractive.

“It's true; although I only learned that when I had already left,” Balt agreed, mirroring Cas' swirling of his tea. “A family friend contacted me out of the blue, offered me some work in London. You and I had just had an argument. I was feeling terribly guilty—”

“Guilty?” Cas repeated and frowned at, his grip around his teacup tightening. Balthasar gave an awkward swallow then nodded, appearing to have to force himself to keep eye contact.

“Remember when... when I accused you of being needlessly jealous when I flirted with that guy who worked in the bistro down the street from your bookshop where we occasionally went for lunch?”

“Neil,” Cas agreed, remembering all too well the way he'd arranged to meet Balthasar on his break one day, and getting there only to find him practically draped over Neil at the counter, completely unperturbed by Cas' imminent arrival.

“It wasn't necessarily needless,” Balt said then, eyes down on the counter and watching his own fingers play along the handle of his cup.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Cas asked, an arch in his voice and his eyes narrowing, his heart giving out a pointless thud. Balt gave another heavy sigh and forced himself to look up once more, his eyes heavy with regret; Cas' fingers gripped even tighter around his cup on seeing it.

“He and I... a few times... perhaps more than a few times, we... well we—”

“I see,” Cas cut him off, the confirmation of his suspicion after all these years seeming irrelevant now, though adding to his feeling of vindication.

“So you see—”

“You used my _jealousy_ and our subsequent argument as an excuse to leave,” Cas surmised, nodding his head and folding his arms tight across his chest once again.

“That's about the gist of it, yes,”

“And you came to apologize for it. After all this time,” Cas continued, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of it.

“Essentially, yes, Cassie,”

“' _Essentially_?'” Cas repeated, watching as Balthasar squirmed under his glare.

“Yes, essentially. I found myself back in America—”

“Have the British recently discovered teleportation technology that they are yet to share with the world?”

“No, but—”

“Then how did you happen to _find_ yourself in America?” Cas concluded, glaring harder still and hearing just how irritated his voice had become, “clearly you did not _stumble_ here by accident, but —”

“I'm getting married, Cassie,”

Cas watched the contortion of Balthasar's face showing genuine remorse and concern, calmly sipping at his tea, wondering what that had to do with anything.

“He's... he's from New York,” Balt continued, swallowing uncomfortably, “we're here to... to hand some invitations out in person to some friends and family,”

“Then you have a valid reason for _finding_ yourself in America,” Cas concluded, staring him down.

“Cassie—”

“Was Joshua another one of my misplaced bouts of jealousy, Balt?” Cas pressed on as the thought occurred to him, thinking of the guy who'd sat for Balthasar for a painting in their apartment and Cas was adamant he could smell on the bedsheets after one such sitting. Cas watched over the top of his teacup as Balthasar moved to shake his head in denial and then paused, changing it to a dejected nod.

“I—”

“And Nathan?” Cas asked again. Nathan had been the brother of their neighbor in the apartment adjacent to he and Balthasar's. Cas remembered coming home from work one evening and swearing he could hear Balthasar in that apartment making sounds only someone intimate with him should be able to recognize. Balthasar had arrived in theirs about an hour later looking flushed, his hair on end, his shirt crooked, and his lips distinctly kiss-swollen. Balt had scoffed at Cas' assumption and thrown himself straight into a shower, avoiding eye contact for the rest of the night telling Cas he _wouldn't put up with his fowl mood_. Balt's hesitant pause then further nod of confirmation left Cas feeling relieved more than anything else, glad to know it hadn't all been in his head.

“I am so sorry, Castiel,”

“Does your fiancé know? What you are like?” Cas asked then, eyes never leaving Balt's and silently enjoying the way his gaze seemed to be making him squirm.

“He does,” Balt agreed, nodding fast, “we've both... been promiscuous in our pasts. But we're... we're—”

“Happy?” Cas suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“We're good together, Cassie,” Balt said, soft and gentle as though he was frightened his words might break Cas.

“I see,”

“I'm so unbelievably sorry, Cassie. For... for everything. For... for cheating on you, for... for lying to you about it. For getting married—”

“It is of no consequence to me that you are getting married,” Cas interrupted, letting out a blast of laughter. Balt stared back as though he didn't believe him, leaving Cas to shrug again in indifference. When he couldn't get Cas to speak Balt ran a nervous hand through his hair and continued talking himself.

“We're... we have discussed everything about our pasts. When... when Michael proposed, I said to him that I... I still felt terrible about the way I had treated you and that I wanted to apologize for it. We've been back to America two or three times since; this is the first time I've plucked up the courage to come here and do it,”

“I accept your apology for what occurred between us in the past,” Cas said then, briefly imagining how things might have turned out between them and realizing again as he had done when thinking of it before that they would never have amounted to anything.

“You do?”

“Yes. And now that you have apologized,” Cas tilted his chin in the direction of the door, making his intention clear.

“Please, Cassie. Can't we... can't we take a little time to catch each other up on our lives? It's been years,” The earnestness on Balt's face then Cas thought anyone would have found hard to completely ignore. His hand reached out for his phone to type a message to Dean to tell him in case he came in to Tea Tales and found Balt there, but then a customer walked in and Cas was distracted with serving them for a few minutes, the phone abandoned on the shelf under the counter.

* * *

It was bizarre, Cas reflected, a couple of hours later with Balt having made himself well and truly at home on that counter stool as Cas dealt with a sudden rush of customers, how rehashing memories with someone who was able to look back on them from a completely different viewpoint made them seem like entirely different experiences. It was also bizarre, Cas laughed to himself, looking back at Balt from where he was in the kitchen and seeing the face he'd fallen asleep next to countless times, how very self-absorbed he'd never noticed Balt being; the entire time he'd been sat there in Tea Tales—on _Dean's_ stool—he'd done little but speak about himself.

Cas had always assumed seeing Balt again would churn up the pain and awfulness that was Balt leaving him, but looking at him now, Cas genuinely realised he couldn't care less. His thoughts were already turned to more important things; getting the cafe ready for the book club, that key still firmly wedged in his pocket and ready to give to Dean when they were alone later that evening, the barbecue Sam and Jess were having at the weekend that he'd been invited to as though they already expected him to be there, and so many other small things that made up the sum of his life, made him whole.

As Cas washed the few dishes that had accumulated with Balthasar's visit, he wondered how Dean's meeting with Jody had gone, hoping all of Dean's hard work would pay off, and that she would be able to support him in some way to do more of something Dean had taken to so naturally. Despite the sarcasm of Meg's words, her praise for Dean out of his earshot was at the very rare level of Meg being genuinely impressed; Cas secretly planned on coming along to watch some of Dean's talks himself if he managed to convince Jody to let him do them.

“Cassie, you have a customer,”

Cas rolled his eyes at Balt's pet name for him, already tired of hearing it, quickly washing his hands and straightening up the trays on the side so that they weren't in danger of falling. Cas pasted on a neutral smile expecting a customer but instead found Dean standing there looking between Balt and himself repeatedly with more and more alarm written all over his face, and felt the panic rising in his chest.

“Dean—” he called out, but it was already to Dean's exiting back. Cas grabbed up his keys ready to run out after him but as luck seemed set against him that day the door swung open yet again with one woman pushing the door back to help another through with a large pushchair, effectively cutting off Cas' exit. Cas served them in a hurry, keeping himself professional yet silently urging them to hurry up, or Claire to arrive early, debating with himself whether to close the cafe altogether to go after him.

Another customer came in and Cas could have screamed; in between serving the new customer and blatantly ignoring Balt's repeated questioning Cas fired off the message he'd started earlier, adding an apology to it and telling himself both he and Dean were overreacting. But despite repeatedly checking his phone for a reply he didn't receive one back; Cas threw himself dejectedly down on his stool and dropped his head into his hands, cursing at himself repeatedly.

“So. I shall ask for what must be the fifth time now,” Balt said, sounding far too amused for Cas' liking, “who is _Dean_?”

 _The love of my life?_ Cas said to himself, _the reason I get up in the morning? Everything?_

“Cassie—”

“The man I intend asking to move in with me this evening,” Cas replied, tired and defeated and for the first time ever, resenting Book Night for getting in the way of his life.

* * *

Book Night came and went, with Cas' customers not seeming to pick up on the urgency of his mood. Balt had left at the arrival of the first small group clutching their books and on the back of several stern scowls sent his way from Claire, and despite several checks of his phone and increasingly desperate messages sent to Dean, Cas had heard nothing from him. His final hope that Dean might turn up anyway as they'd previously arranged was dashed with the final _goodnight_ of one of his regulars and Cas peering out into the rain-soaked street one final time before turning the closed sign and shutting the door.

As Cas swept the floors and gave a final wipe down of all of the cafe's surfaces he went over explanation after explanation, knowing five minutes would be all it would take to make Dean understand, and rewording it continuously until he'd driven himself half-crazy. One last glance and Cas was turning up the collar of his jacket to shield him from the rain and leaving, walking the three blocks to get him to the taxi rank and heading for Sam's house.

Finding the house in darkness and Cas was kicking himself, remembering too late that both Sam and Jess were working late and that if Dean needed to think, the first thing he would do is drive. Reluctant, Cas mumbled to the driver giving him his own address instead and sent a message to Sam, his eyes out on the road for the entire drive back on the off chance of seeing Dean's precious Impala in passing.

“What've you done?”

Barely through his front door, Cas winced at Sam's question as he answered the phone, though having his wits about him just enough to realize there was mirth and teasing in his voice.

“I may have given Dean the wrong impression about something,” Cas sighed, slumping down on to the couch then standing immediately back up again to shrug out of his jacket, plucking mindlessly at the cushions as he sat back down. He listened to Sam shuffling at the other end of the phone and presumed he was still in his office.

“So what happened?”

Cas sucked in a breath and gave Sam an abridged version of Balt's visit that had ended with him asking that they keep in contact and Cas adamantly declining the offer. Sam groaned, and Cas braced all over again for his anger.

“Look. That's kind of shitty. I mean, your ex turning up out of the blue on you like that, and Dean walking in to find him there – talk about bad timing,” Sam began; Cas felt his stomach clenching and closed his eyes.

“And yeah- maybe you coulda prevented this by sending Dean a message about it earlier,” Sam added; Cas slipped further down in the couch and screwed up his face.

“And obviously, here's the obligatory _I'm gonna kick you in the balls if you hurt my brother_ bit,”

Cas unscrewed his eyes and sat up; Sam sounded far too amused to be about to start berating him. “Sam—”

“I mean it; you're gonna make this up to Dean in ways that... I wanna hear nothing about,”

“I—”

“Relax, Cas,” Sam laughed, and Cas was sure he could hear him stretching and yawning, “he's probably driving around somewhere arguing with himself about overreacting and not waiting to hear you out. It's what he does when he needs to think; just takes off and drives. I mean I hate it, 'cos he never answers for hours sometimes when he does it and I'm left sat there wondering if he's driven off a cliff or something—”

“Sam—”

“There are no cliffs here for miles, Cas, quit worrying,”

The ease of Sam's response went a little way to help him calm, but Cas still couldn't help worrying about Dean being out there feeling alone thinking that Cas had let him down; Cas hated that idea, and even more that he couldn't do anything about it.

“You know, Cas, this one time, we'd had this blazing row – back when we were kids. Dad had... dad had gone off somewhere on a drinking binge and left us with no money for food—it happened a lot; Dean cooked us up something with whatever was left in the cupboard and I kicked up a fuss about it, screaming that I wanted something else. In my defense, I was thirteen at the time... Anyways... we were arguing and shouting and just... yelling at each other. Dean scooped up the car keys – even back then Dad barely drove anymore; always too drunk. And Dean just... walked out,”

“What happened?”

“We didn't have our own phones back then so I couldn't call him; it got dark and I sat there picking at what he'd cooked me – I'd almost thrown it back at him but I was so hungry by then I was pretty glad I hadn't. At about three in the morning I heard voices; Dean had driven until he was outta gas, walked miles to a pay phone, called Uncle Bobby, who then got both Dean and the car home. Left us a bunch of cash to tide us over 'till our Dad got back from wherever,”

A bittersweet smile took over Cas' face, silently thanking Bobby for being the father that Dean and Sam had never really had. “Bobby sounds like a good man,”

“He is,” Sam agreed, obviously smiling, “gruff as hell; pretends he doesn't care about anyone or anything – bear that in mind for when you meet him. But yeah. He's... he's _Bobby_ ,”

Reassured by Sam's assumption that he would get to meet Bobby calmed Cas further still; he pushed himself to stand and padded across to the kitchen.

“If he does not contact me...” Cas began, taking down a glass from the cupboard and pouring himself some water.

“I'll make sure to tell him to if I see him first. Stop worrying, Cas,” Sam told him again, still sounding as though he was smiling. They spent another few minutes speaking and when Cas hung up he felt settled enough to open up his laptop, answer some emails and look through the news, then laid back down on the couch and answered the messages from both Meg and Gabe that he'd been ignoring in favor of looking out for Dean's.

Weariness took him over; Cas forced himself up yet again and through a shower, determinedly telling himself not to worry when there were still no messages from Dean. He climbed into bed, reaching for the book on his nightstand and opening it up, managing a couple of pages before falling asleep with the book landing flat on his chest.

A little later Cas startled, first believing it to be the weight of the book on him then realizing it was the vibration of his phone. His heart in his mouth, Cas snatched it up, seeing Sam's name there and quickly sliding his thumb across to accept the call. His blood ran cold at Sam's barked out instruction, throwing himself up and out of bed and dressing in seconds, with Sam's words ricocheting around his head as he rang for a taxi and began pacing back and forth waiting for it to arrive.

“Get to the hospital,”

* * *

The years that had passed since the death of his paternal grandfather had not seen Cas needing to visit a hospital often, having taken one look down at his pale, thin body hooked up to every machine imaginable following his heart attack and vowing to never have to step foot in one again. Meg had forced his hand a little on that, having drunkenly sliced open her foot whilst dancing on a table one time and having him stumble his way to the emergency room with her on his back, shouting out instructions at him and anyone she passed. And Gabe had played his part too, his appendix rupturing mid courtroom battle with all of the dramatics only he could manage. But to be setting foot in one again after all this time, not exactly of his own fruition, was not where Cas was wanting to spend any of his time; least of all in the early hours of the morning when he didn't know what was even wrong.

Cas always felt lost in hospitals, but then he supposed most people did; corridor upon identical corridor with signs that took you all the way in one direction only to have you turn around and head back the way you had just come. Why all signs in hospitals tended to lead visitors to either the gift shop or cafeteria was always going to be an annoying mystery to him, but right now the only thing Cas was doing battle with was keeping his panic under control as he continued his frantic search for the ward Sam messaged to tell him Dean was on.

“Cas! Hey,”

Cas spun on his heel at Jess' voice, eyes flitting over her face to see if that would tell him anything she might not have the strength to say.

“He's fine,” she assured him, squeezing his arm and threading hers through his, leading him along a corridor, “I already slapped Sam – hard – for making you worry. You're not worried, are you?”

Cas huffed at the concern in her voice and found himself walking even faster, propelling Jess forwards, even though he knew it was pointless since he didn't know where he was actually going.

“Okay, stupid question. So honestly; I'll let him tell you the non-gory details, but; it's all superficial—”

“What's all superficial?” Cas demanded, his voice rising a little higher.

“He's got a few scrapes and bruises and stuff—”

“What is _stuff_ , Jess?”

“Just... just come see him, let him tell you himself,” Jess urged again, dragging him along. Leading Cas past a ward desk and nurses that took one look at Jess and waved them through, Jess pulled him until they were outside the door of a private room and she was firmly shoving him in the back to go in.

“Perks of his insurance, apparently,” Jess told him, obviously taking in the surprised look on his face. Squaring his shoulders Cas nodded, vaguely making out both Sam and Dean's voices and almost dropping to the floor with relief at hearing their familiar bickering that told him Dean really was okay. Cas pushed the door open wide, and two tired-looking Winchesters turned to look back at him, Sam smiling and waving, and Dean looking a mixture of relieved to see him and embarrassed. Without thinking Cas crossed the room and bent down over Dean, kissing him hard.

“If you dare ever do... whatever you have done again,” Cas threatened him unable to keep his voice from breaking, then carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes glancing over the small grazes on the left side of his face, the bandage covering his arm that had him wince for the stickiness of the dressing pressed firm against his already delicate skin, and the awkward angle of his free hand, the other hooked up to a monitor that Jess was already noting down a reading of and removing.

“What happened?” Cas asked, going to lift Dean's hand though stopping when he saw him flinch; Cas turned his hand over to find his knuckles grazed and scuffed, and lifted it to kiss each of them in turn, glaring over his shoulder at Sam for the vomiting noises he was making then turning his full focus back to Dean.

“I... you'll laugh,” Dean began, screwing his face up and then grimacing for the obvious pain that caused. Cas cleared his throat and arched an eyebrow, ready to argue if he needed to.

“I was... driving. When I... when I left the cafe—”

“When you left without allowing me to explain,” Cas amended, kissing the back of Dean's hand again, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, quiet and contrite, “then. And I... guess you musta sent me some messages, huh?”

“Several,”

“I sorta... I sorta, uh... I mean I heard your messages but I was driving, so—”

“Dean—”

“I might've lost it. My phone I mean,” Dean amended, peering around Cas to glare at Sam, who raised his arms up in a comic attempt at defense though continued to mumble things under his breath that Cas had no interest in trying to work out.

“Essentially. I went for a drive. I was out on the highway for a good couple hours, gas got low. Filled up. Stopped at a diner for something to eat. Thought I'd sit out the rain a bit; realized I must've taken my phone out of my pocket when I filled up 'cos it wasn't with me, and it wasn't in the car either,”

“Good thing it's a pay as you go sim, huh?” Sam added, ducking his head away when Dean turned to glare at him again.

“Anyway,” Dean continued, squeezing Cas' fingers, “I figured... figured you'd be done reading in Tea Tales and would've headed home. So I thought maybe I'd head there too, so we could... talk and stuff—”

“' _And stuff,_ '” Sam muttered behind them, this time snorting and backing away from Dean and Cas' joint glare for him.

“And then the rain got real heavy. I had to go down a couple of streets I didn't recognize. Got myself lost; ended up on the wrong side of town,”

“It gets better,” Sam called out; Cas resisted the urge to shout at him to be quiet.

“So I was turning the car around, barely could see a thing. And I was driving along this little... I don't even know what it was, but this huge, _huge_ cat sprang outta nowhere and I —I swerved to miss it and... and—”

“And he tipped the car down an embankment and couldn't get out,” Sam finished for him, sounding thoroughly unconcerned, in fact when Cas turned his head he saw Sam looking down at Dean and rolling his eyes at him for what he clearly thought was his stupidity.

“It was flooded,” Dean protested; Cas' heart skipped at the thought of Dean being trapped, but Sam laughed again, and before Cas could call him out on being cruel Dean was groaning and laughing at himself, raising his free hand to hide his eyes behind.

“Not even a foot of water,” Sam told him, shaking his head again, “this idiot was trying to climb out without getting his feet wet, slipped and fell and banged his head, then clawed his way up the side of the embankment and passed out at the top—almost got himself run over from the sound of it,”

“I coulda had hypothermia,” Dean protested but it was half-hearted; Cas turned back to him to see him attempting to wince yet again.

“You were out there less than ten minutes, Dean,”

“It's long enough to—”

“It's like, fifty out,” Sam added, raising an incredulous eyebrow, “not like you were gonna free to death,”

“Did you know this when you called me, Sam?” Cas asked then, hearing Dean's attempt of laughter as Cas turned his head to glower at Sam, suddenly furious. In Sam's defense, Cas thought, already guessing the answer from the look on his face, he really did look guilty for it but it did nothing to calm him, a thousand angry words fighting their way out to launch themselves at him.

“...Sorta,”

“What does ' _sorta_ ' mean, Sam?” Cas demanded, saying the word as though it tasted bitter on his tongue; to his side Dean snorted and gave his hand a placating squeeze.

“Means Sam's got some making up to do for picking a bad time to be pulling a prank is what it means,” Jess piped up, glaring across the bed at her husband, rolling her eyes at Dean, and smiling at Cas in sympathy. “Welcome to the family 'n all; means he _likes_ you,”

Cas looked between the three of them not knowing whether to laugh or cry, settling instead for leaning in and kissing Dean again, leaning their foreheads together and sighing out hard in relief.

* * *

 

  
  



	16. Darkness leads to light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Dean**

“Anyway,” Dean turned his head at Sam's voice, watching him slap his hands down by his sides and stretching, “think I should probably leave you two to talk,”

“Not too long,” Jess warned Cas, holding a chart up and waving it at him, “possibility of a concussion; he needs to rest,”

“Thought you were s'posed to stay awake when you had concussion?” Sam asked, frowning at her.

“Samuel,” Jess replied sounding thoroughly put upon, “I've told you countless times that opinion's long been changed on that. And even if Dean _should_ be staying awake, he should be doing that _peacefully_ ,”

Sam's gleeful smile for him at hearing Jess' words pressed Dean back against the bed, flinching as he added, “So you two shouldn't, uh—you know,”

Dean closed his eyes to the gesture Sam made then feeling Cas' fingers curl a little tighter through his own. They flew open again to a loud whacking sound followed by a mournful _ow_ , watching as Jess lowered the board she'd hit Sam on the arm with back into its cradle at the foot of his bed. A murmured goodbye and Jess closing the door behind them and he and Cas were alone; Dean shifted his gaze from looking at the door to Cas' face, bracing for whatever he might be about to say.

Cas stared back at him unmoving for a moment, then without warning pitched forward once more, one hand around his jaw to angle Dean how he wanted him and the other gently cradling the back of his head, kissing him thoroughly and thankfully as though full of relief that he was able to.

“I meant it. Do not do that again,” Cas told him when he pulled back a couple of inches to stare him down. Dean swallowed hard at the intensity of it but nodded, slowly raising his hands to cup Cas' face and pull him back in for another kiss.

“I promise. Next time I see a cat—”

“You will attempt to avoid it by some other means than driving into a ditch,” Cas finished for him, raising an eyebrow and pinning him in place with his look. Dean nodded, dropping his hand again to squeeze through Cas' fingers and shifted a little in the bed to make more room for him to sit.

“I'm... sorry about before; I shouldn't have stormed out like that,” Dean told him then, words he'd been rehearsing long before his nose-first dive into that ditch.

“And I apologize that I did not finish the message I was attempting to send you when Balthasar arrived to tell you he was there,” Cas replied, looking contrite himself, “he was uninvited. I had no knowledge of him coming,”

“I know,” Dean agreed quickly, because of course he knew that; for all of his occasional spikes of jealousy Dean trusted Cas implicitly; his overreaction was a kneejerk one that he knew he'd have to learn to control.

Cas sighed and leaned in again to kiss him with an urgency that said he couldn't get enough, perching on the edge of Dean's hospital bed and wriggling to get more comfortable then telling Dean of Balthasar's visit, confirming without needing to say the actual words that Dean had absolutely nothing to worry about at all.

“I can... I could understand if it upset you that he's... that he's getting married now,” Dean mumbled, squeezing his hand in solidarity.

“I am neither happy nor sad to hear the news,” Cas shrugged, smiling at him, “his life is of no consequence to me anymore. That he would assume I would care after all this time is confounding,”

The tiny squeeze of doubt that'd had hold of Dean's heart released; Dean strained up to claim himself yet another kiss and dropped his forehead down into the crook of Cas' neck.

“I, uh... I had a panic attack in that ditch,” The steady rising and falling of Cas' shoulder coupled with a soothing hand on his back gave Dean the courage to keep going.

“It was... I think it was the being outta control part of it. The car... I couldn't stop it sliding, you know? And I kept thinking... what would happen if the ditch was deeper and the car started sinking... what if I couldn't climb out... what if...” but then Dean's voice gave out on him, and he found himself feeling so very foolish he was lost for what to say. Cas' arms shifted to wrap around him, fingers through the back of his hair and repeated kisses to the side of his face, but Cas kept quiet, seeming to understand Dean needed the space to talk it out.

“I hate it, Cas. I used to—I used to go in to burning buildings for fucksake. And now every little thing. Every time I feel outta my depth I just... panic. I hate it. Keep being told it's _normal_ and all that shit, and it's _not_. It's not _my_ normal, anyway,” Dean pressed himself in a little tighter into Cas' embrace and sighed out hard against his shoulder, closing his eyes. Cas continued holding on to him in silence, and the peace of it lulled Dean into relaxing, turning his head to press grateful kisses into Cas' neck.

“I am here, Dean. I will not tell you that everything is okay, that everything is going to be fine. But I will tell you, that I am here: I intend to always be here, if you will allow me to be,”

Tears pricked the corners of Dean's eyes out of nowhere, leaving him holding on to Cas even tighter, not feeling like he could get close enough. “Can I tell you something, Cas?” he asked, mumbling it into Cas' neck and following it up with kisses.

“Always,”

At Cas' patient tone Dean found the strength to pull back, slot his fingers through Cas', lean into the gentleness of Cas flattening down his hair and trailing his fingers down his jaw before dropping them again. Dean stared back at Cas then, debating with himself how to start this, trying and failing to find the right words to get his burden out.

“I... I never told you the whole story about the fire,”

Cas continued blinking back at him, still giving him the room to talk. Dean found himself swallowing back unshed tears, taking a few seconds to compose himself before trusting himself to speak.

“I... I was off duty. Got the call a few minutes away from home. Kinda dreading going home, actually; I'd been to Bobby and Ellen's for dinner, a really nice, easy evening with them and... and my Dad'd been on a session the night before. He'd... he'd stopped going for me by then, so it wasn't like—it wasn't like I was _scared_ to go home or anything. He'd—he'd gotten too weak by then. Too slow. Didn't stop him mouthing off every chance he got though. Second he had a drink in him went from this quiet guy you could mistake for being this great thinker minding his own business to this... obnoxious, vindictive bastard,”

Cas squeezed his hand as though to remind Dean he was there, and Dean squeezed back gratefully, focusing his eyes down on their entangled fingers.

“Anyway. Got the call, and at first, I was sort of relieved; I'd take a burning building over any kind of time with my Dad by then. I mean I wasn't gonna ever leave my Dad the state he was in to fend for himself or anything, but. Man was I wishing for a new life by then,”

“I apologize, Dean; I was under the impression that you had... lost your father sometime before the fire,”

The flinch that went through Dean felt like the crack of a whip; his father's angry words and fists flying at him from all directions. Phantom smoke burned his eyes, nostrils and throat, the acrid smell of burning seeming to fill his hospital room.

“I got the call; it was Bobby who called me, actually. Said a few minutes after I'd left their dinner table he got a call from the station. He—he called me... 'cos the bar that'd gone up in flames... it—it was his... Dad's usual...”

“Oh, Dean...” Cas called softly, gripping him tight as realization sank in for what Dean was about to tell him.

“I... I ended up being first on site, you know? Bar was in staggering distance from our place and opened later than any other bar so, you know. Kinda perfect for him,”

“You don't need to—”

“The smoke was already pouring outta the building when I got there,” Dean said, feeling like he was back there reliving it all again. Smoke billowing out of cracked windows, patrons of the bar standing in a daze outside, or staggering out of the double-fronted doorway where only one of the doors actually opened. He'd cuffed his sleeve over his mouth and ducked down low to crouch his way in to look beneath that billowing smoke, hearing the bottles breaking inside followed by what sounded like small explosions every time the flammable liquor caught. There were voices still inside, and hearing them made Dean speed up, standing up too quickly and sucking in a lungful of smoke, doubled over and coughing and spluttering, forcing himself to control his breathing.

The layout of the bar was a deathtrap; far too many tables crammed in tight, screwed down to the floor and meaning anyone wanting to sit at a table had to essentially climb in. With the electrics gone and the smoke making the tiny room dark as midnight not really helped by it already being evening and dark outside, anyone trying to escape would have had to just try to feel their way out. The serving bar itself was in the centre of the wall to the right with the kitchen behind that and to a corner, a delivery pallet left taking up valuable floor space that had already been thick with grime from the length of time it had been left here the last time Dean had been called to come and collect his dad. If Dean hadn't been already over-familiar with the layout of the bar because of the countless times he'd had to come into it, he'd probably have been just as lost as those few people still making their way out after hearing Dean's barked instructions that meant he was sucking in even more smoke as he shouted out.

A wailing to his left had Dean turning; one older woman in her haste to climb out of her seat when so inebriated had managed to break her leg. Dean unwound the limb from where it had tangled around the table and gritted his teeth against the feel of broken bone beneath the surface of skin, then pulled her free, having to drag her out because the woman was too far gone to walk. Waiting people pulled her from his arms and helped rip the other door open, and someone had rustled up a flashlight that they held, pointing it back into the bar to help Dean look as he went back in.

As Dean had been fearing from the moment he'd arrived outside the bar, his dad's usual seat there was occupied. Dean took in the figure slumped down over the table and felt sick, making his way across the room avoiding broken bottles and weaving through the furniture mostly blind, tripping over what he realized later was a body, not yet acknowledging the heat of the room that made his skin feel molten in places. But as Dean reached his dad, confirmed it was him from recognizing the back of his jacket where he laid over the table, Dean heard a scream for help coming from the direction of the bar.

The one exit next to the serving hatch was already aflame, licking up the walls and eating wood and liquor and anything in its path. Because of the reputation of the bar there was only one section of the bar where you could actually get served, and screaming and trying to clamber their way out and over it was David, the bartender who usually called Dean every time his dad got too much to handle.

Torn, Dean pressed a hand to his Dad's back and telling himself he was still breathing then rushed forward for David, helping pull him free and over the bar. A cracking sound blasted at them to the side immediately and David was crying out, flames beginning to wick up the back of his clothes. Dean smothered the flames out as best he could then carried him out over his shoulders, David too weak from smoke inhalation to do much but wheeze. As Dean returned, another crate of alcohol exploded adding more fuel to the fire, and Dean had just enough time to cover his face to protect it from the shards of glass flying at him, stumbling backward with the force of the heat blasting against his chest.

A rumbling sound seemed to rock the entire floor then, and that already terrifying wall of flame grew taller still, licking up over his head and dripping things down on to Dean, still too charged with adrenaline to really feel much of what was happening. The fire bulged out then, and Dean had dived to the left, effectively blocking off his only exit. He climbed over tables and chairs to get to his Dad, dragging him to his feet, bracing and shifting until he could get him up on his shoulders.

Another blast behind him and this time Dean could feel the flames licking at his back. The pain of it dislodged his dad from his grasp, and Dean collapsed under his weight, gasping and clawing at his throat for breath and reaching behind him, trying to grip on to his Dad's jacket to pull him along. One final crash behind him and Dean was scrambling to his feet, a fist tight in his dad's jacket collar and pulling until they were outside, collapsing into a heap just outside the entrance and knowing no more until he'd woken up in the hospital the following day with Sam peering down at him looking terrified.

“They told me he'd died of smoke inhalation,” Dean said then as he came back to the present, closing his eyes and feeling his tears leaking furiously down his face, “and I gotta wonder... if I'd have.. if I'd have been a few seconds quicker. If I'd have gotten him out first. If I'd have—”

“You saved two people, Dean,” Cas interrupted, leaning and nuzzling into Dean's neck, “two people. You could not have done any more,”

“I could've saved three,” Dean denied, shaking his head, blinking at the relentless fall of tears yet doing nothing to hide them, “and to this day... I don't know if I'd... If I was so blinded by my dad being there that I could've... that I could've saved the others that died in there as well,”

“Dean,” Cas said, shaking him lightly, “please. Please listen to me,”

Dean took a deep breath, still shaking his head, “I can't, Cas, I can't—”

“Dean,” Cas said again, firmer and this time with a nudge against Dean's cheek with his forehead asking him to look up. When he did Cas was diving straight in to kiss him, wrapping his arms tight around Dean's neck until the tremble rippling through him had calmed.

“I can't know. I can't know if I could've—”

“Dean. You will not like the words, but you are a hero; you _are._ As for your father, you are the expert here I am sure, but is it not true that smoke inhalation can be equally deadly to the actual fire itself? Is it... is it not more likely that your father had inhaled that much smoke by then... that perhaps the reason he was laid on the table was because he was already—”

“I can't know that, Cas,” Dean protested, shaking his head, the wisdom of Cas' words not getting through to him.

“Listen to me, Dean,” Cas tried again, pleading in his voice, “your father died in a tragic accident. He died; and I am so very sorry, Dean. But you cannot—you must not blame yourself for his death. You almost died yourself going back in for him. You almost died, Dean,”

“Maybe I should have...”

The way Cas' eyes blew wide the second the words were out of Dean's mouth had his heart plummeting. It was one of the few thoughts Dean had firmly kept from him, knowing saying the words out loud would show the true depths of despair he got himself into at times, and would send Cas running far away for sure. It was selfish, Dean told himself in that moment with self-hatred swirling so hard within him then that it was like he had serpents writhing within his gut. Selfish to cling on to Cas like he had any right to be with him.

“I should've told you. I should've... I should've warned you what I was like,”

“What, Dean? What are you like?” Cas asked, a hard grip around Dean's forearm that anchored him there, making Dean feel even more selfish all over again.

“Maybe,” he tried again, swallowing against the splinters of dryness that were his throat, “maybe I should've told you. How much of a waste of space I really am. 'stead of fooling you into thinking I was worth even a second of your time,”

Dean watched the steady rise and fall of Cas' chest, saw the grim set of his mouth, closed his eyes and felt tears rolling down his cheeks at the gentleness of Cas' kiss to his forehead, and braced himself for goodbye. Instead, Cas nudged ever closer to Dean until they were pressed together tightly, wrapped him up in his arms and held on with a tension that told Dean he had no plans of letting go.

“Tell me, Dean. Tell me what is going on in that head of yours. Please let me in,” Cas mumbled into his temple then dropped a kiss to his cheek and buried his forehead into Dean's neck, holding him steady. Dean was lost for words, but the weight of Cas pressed around him gave him untold strength; Dean gave a delicate roll of his shoulders so he didn't jostle Cas too much then slid his hands around his back, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Cas'.

“I never—I never used to be like this, you know? I mean... I mean I guess I always hated myself—” Dean stopped at the indignant shimmer Cas gave at his words, a new flood of tears springing from his eyes. “But I never... I never had any ideas about _hurting_ myself in any way; I don't even feel like that now. I just... sometimes... some days it just feels like... it feels like there's no point in even waking up. I don't—I don't do anything with my life, Cas,”

Dean paused to wipe a furious hand across his tears, taking a deep breath then carrying on. “The truth is... well the truth is when they told me Dad was dead, I... I can't even lie and say I felt numb about it. I wasn't sad; I was relieved. Hell, Cas; I was _happy_ about it. I felt like —I felt like I was free for the first time in my entire life; what kinda son thinks that about his own dad, huh? What kinda a person does that make me, Cas?”

“It makes you a kind, wonderful man who suffered years of abuse at the hands of a father who you still insisted on caring for despite his cruelty. That is all it means, Dean. That is all it means,” Cas' words had Dean gripping tighter around him, shaking his head hard and finding it impossible to believe them, and as though Cas knew what he was thinking he repeated them, punctuating his repetition with frequent kisses into his neck and shoulder.

When Dean had calmed a little, he found the strength to continue speaking. “All I could think of was that maybe... maybe I'd purposely left him too long, 'stead of getting him out when I should've. That maybe—I mean I don't _remember_ thinking it at the time, but... but what if I stood there in that bar and decided it was time for him to go? That it'd make my life so much better if he just died there, and I didn't have to think about him no more? What if—”

“You have just speculated also that by not saving your father you could have saved the other people in that bar who did not make it outside; both cannot be true at the same time,” Cas pointed out, and at the bluntness of it Dean flinched, attempting to back away from him. Cas allowed him to go so far and then that vice grip of his was back, this time to both of his forearms as Cas pinned him with a glare that told Dean he'd have to listen whether he liked what Cas was about to say to him or not.

“What ifs are _cruel_ , Dean. What ifs do nothing but make us doubt ourselves. Do not doubt this: your father was a wicked, cruel man, who happened to be an alcoholic. He chose to go to that bar that day. He chose to drink himself into a stupor that probably had him asleep against that table. It is likely that he was oblivious to the entire situation, Dean: you cannot blame yourself for any of that—”

“But I _do_ , Cas. Maybe I made him like that—”

“Dean,” Cas said, squeezing harder and looking as though he wanted to shake Dean in his frustration at him, “Dean. Your father was... overwhelmed with grief when you lost your mother. His coping mechanism was to run, to drag you and Sam across the country as children instead of allowing himself – and you, to grieve. He reached for alcohol instead of reaching and holding _you_ , Dean; I know I never met the man but it seems he long ago lost the right to call himself your _father_ . No one is to blame for what happened to him but _him_. And perhaps the bar; I am sure from what you have told me of the hazards in the building —”

“They paid us off,” Dean interrupted, grimacing at the memory of depositing the money in his account and feeling so guilty for it. Cas' frown had Dean nodding to himself and pulling back from the grip of Cas' hands around his arms, only for Dean to snag his fingers up and hold on to them instead. “The bar. The... people that died. Their families... they paid us all off so we wouldn't—so we wouldn't sue. Sam... Sam stopped speaking to Dad the day he left for Stamford, refused to have anything more to do with him, so... so anything Dad left—anything _for_ Dad... all of it came to me. And I felt... I felt so bad for that; gaining from him dying and all, I—”

“You gave your life to care for him, Dean,” Cas argued back and denying him the thought, leaning in to give him a brief kiss, “in no way can money ever bring back a life; even one as awful as your father's. But... but you have done nothing wrong here, Dean. Not at all,”

“I kept thinking maybe I—maybe I'm just such a waste of space, maybe it'd have been better if I'd have... if I'd have taken his place in that damn fire. That I—”

“You will listen to me, Dean,” Cas cut him off, an insistent press of a kiss to his lips and a hard grip of his hands, “your life is not a waste. _You_ are not a waste. You give... so much. You _are_ so much. You deserve happiness, Dean; you deserve to have good things happen to you. You have had... such terrible experiences. But they are behind you now, Dean. Do not let them drag you to a hell you do not deserve to be in,”

“I try, Cas,” Dean protested, but it was weak; it wasn't that he didn't fight the way he found himself feeling sometimes but in that very moment clawing his way out of those feelings felt impossible.

“I know you do,” Cas agreed quickly, kissing him again and giving him a smile so loaded with pride that Dean felt tears pricking in his eyes all over again, “but perhaps... perhaps you need some assistance with that. I will do all that I can, Dean; I am going nowhere. But perhaps you... perhaps you should consider—”

“What if I don't deserve any help? What if... what if I get help and I'm just not worth it, huh, Cas? What if I try... counseling, or whatever, and I'm just like I am now after all of that as I am now? I'd have wasted not only my own time but that of—”

“Dean,” Cas protested, his voice cracking with strain and making Dean feel guilty all over again, “I will tell you this repeatedly until you _listen_ to me. You are not a waste. You are not; you are so important; to me, to Sam. Jess, Charlie... I could continue to list all of the people who would be devastated without you in their world... but until you _realize_ how important you are for yourself...” Cas dropped his head then, and Dean's heart plummeted yet again for seeing the brightness of Cas' eyes when he lifted his head back up to look at him.

“I would be lost without you, Dean. Perhaps it is selfish to tell you that, to focus on my fear of losing you when it is _you_ that you need to be well for. But it is true; I love you so very much. I can't—I cannot imagine living a life without you in it now. You have spoilt me, Dean. You have spoilt me for any other kind of existence,”

Cas' soothing circling of his hand on Dean's back and whispered reassurances into Dean's hair was the thing that broke him, clutching tight at the back of Cas' jacket and sobbing into his neck, allowing Cas to rock him back and forth until he had cried out all of his tears. When the tremors had lessened Dean tried to duck down, to look away, embarrassed by the state his face must be in. Cas was having none of it though; with two fingers beneath his chin Cas gently pushed his head up to look at him, wiping away Dean's tears himself and pressing whisper-soft kisses over his eyes, his tear-stained cheeks, before sweetly claiming his mouth and then wrapping him up in a tight hug.

“I'm a mess,” Dean blurted out a little later, pressing his forehead once more into Cas' shoulder then sitting back up, pulling away from him, “but I'll try, Cas. I'll try... I'll try and get over this, I—”

“You are not a mess,” Cas argued, shaking his head.

“Feel like I am. I've been... I've been so _good_ lately, Cas, with the —with the school, Jody; all of it. But I'm still not okay. I mean I can sleep now, but. Still can't switch off my thoughts. Can't... can't _stop_ thinking sometimes. I overreact, blow things all up outta proportion. Keep panicking all the time when I —when I'm anything like outta my depth. I keep dreaming of that damn fire like I'm still right in the middle of it—”

“If you will not allow the explanation of your reactions being _normal_ , will you allow that this is your mind – and body's way of recovering?” Cas asked, reaching out and gripping Dean's shoulder.

“I mean... that makes sense,” Dean said, because it did, and he knew he'd be saying the same thing to anyone else who was feeling like this. But it didn't fit, didn't seem right to be thinking that of himself. Cas seemed to be reading his mind then because he rolled his eyes and gave him a tired smile, reaching his hands up to cup Dean's face and pull him into a kiss.

“Dean. Normal or not normal. Mess, or no mess. You are _my_ mess. And I happen to be very fond of you as you are,” Cas told him, solemn and serious and punctuated with kisses.

“You're fond of me, huh?” Dean smiled, nuzzling against him and breathing him in, sighing as though all the weight of the world had been on his shoulders until then.

“Very much so,” Cas agreed, and leaned in to kiss him all over again.

“Good,” Dean grinned at him much, much later, “then maybe you can help me spring this joint, huh?”

“When you are rested, Dean,” Cas promised, leaning in for a final kiss and then standing. Dean reached out in protest at his leaving but Cas was already across the room, picking up the room's solitary chair and moving it in closer to him. “You should attempt to rest; I will stay here,”

“You can't sleep in a chair all night, Cas—” he began protesting, cut off with the pointed look Cas sent in the direction of the window.

“It is already light outside, Dean. It is early morning,”

“Not for me it isn't,” Dean shook his head, reaching out and grabbing hold of Cas' hand. Cas stood still, sighed hard, and raised his shoulders in a shrug.

“Then what would you suggest?”

Hesitating only for a second Dean scooted over a little further in the bed and rolled on to his side, patting the now empty space beside him. “Climb on in,”

“It is too small,” Cas shook his head, laughing, which it probably was for two six-foot men; not that Dean cared at all about that, “you could fall, and—”

“So hold on to me,” Dean cut him off with, flicking back the blanket and looking up at Cas in hope. As though he didn't even question Dean's suggestion Cas grinned back at him, shrugged out of his jacket and stepped out of his shoes, nimbly sliding in the bed and pulling Dean into his arms.

* * *

“My father came to see me again this morning,”

Dean turned his head to the side and squeezed Cas' hand, waiting to see if he was going to continue talking.

“He likes the new pie,” Cas added, and Dean watched the way Cas' lips curved up into a smile, feeling powerless to resist leaning in and kissing his cheek.

“Good man. Wise. Sensible kinda guy,” Dean nodded, lifting his arm and looping it around Cas' waist, tugging him closer.

“He would like to meet you; it is third time he has asked,” Cas added, lifting his hand to cup around Dean's jaw and angle him in to kiss him. Dean went willingly and seconds later was turning, slotting his arms around Cas' waist, pulling him to the side of the path they were walking through the park so they wouldn't be interrupted.

Dean could lose hours like this he thought, pressed up against Cas and kissing him as though there was nothing else he ever needed to be doing; the contented little noises Cas was making made Dean think he must be feeling pretty much the same. And now that he'd officially moved into Cas' they had all the time in the world to be together however they wanted, Dean thought to himself, smiling against Cas' lips as he pulled away, sighing into the hug that replaced it.

The day after the incident with the ditch, after Sam had dropped them both off at Cas' apartment, Cas had unceremoniously pressed a key into his hand and dragged him to bed. “I want you to live here,” Cas had told him; Cas' previously unknown parking bay now housed the Impala that had been lovingly restored with Dean's own fair hands on Sam's driveway in between packing up his few possessions to take to the apartment. And those few possessions had already blended in with Cas', half the closets cleared for his clothing and that shelf in the bathroom he had already been encroaching on the space of now his and his alone.

“Would you object?” Cas asked when they pulled back from one another and resumed their walk; Dean took a second to remember what they'd been talking about and grabbed up his hand again, shaking his head.

“Course not; next time he's in—”

“He never tells me when he is coming—”

“So call me when he gets there,” Dean smiled, raising Cas' hand to kiss the back of it.

“I promise not to introduce you to my mother,” Cas assured him, nudging into his side.

“Hey. I survived meeting Gabe several times now. I've had dinner with him and Meg and come outta it mostly unscathed; I could handle your mother if you wanted me to,”

“Thank you, although since I have been formally ostracised from the family and only Gabriel and my father deem to speak with me, I doubt it will ever be necessary,”

Dean raised Cas' hand against to kiss it and gave it another squeeze; Cas played down any of the hurt he might be feeling at his mother's treatment of him but Dean knew it had to play on his mind. The woman was crazy, clearly, for deliberately missing out on her son's life; Cas was incredible, and Dean knew even with him being biased how very true it was.

“Bobby and Ellen'll adore you,” Dean promised, knowing that was the truth as well. He'd not seen either of them in person since he'd left Lawrence, and that seemed like forever ago now—even if he did message them frequently and called at least once a week to catch up. They would be driving down the following weekend to stay at Sam and Jess' and had demanded that they meet Cas; Dean had no doubt at all that they'd thoroughly approve of him, though secretly prayed Ellen would go easy on Cas, not ask him ten thousand questions and challenge him to shots like he'd seen her do with Jess when she and Sam had first begun looking like Jess was planning on sticking around.

“I hope so,” Cas mumbled, smiling shyly at him and making Dean's chest swell with affection for him.

“Guaranteed,”

“When do you think you will hear back from Jody?” Cas asked then, smiling at a passing dog and bending to pat it on the head.

“Could be a week, could be a month,” Dean shrugged, schooling in his own impatience at not being able to do anything. They had submitted their proposal for funding after two weeks of collaboration between them and all they could do now was sit and wait. “Bureaucracy for funding a new post can apparently take ages even if all the paperwork's submitted. Jody wants me to start getting all the certification and stuff done sooner rather than later but since I'm not even officially on the staff yet she can't pay for it; either I pay for it out of my own pocket and hope they reimburse me, or I wait,”

“You can prepare yourself in other ways,” Cas pointed out, smiling at Dean as though he really believed he could do anything, “you are already reading all the material you can on the legislation and procedures; you have joined a gym and have begun an exercise programme that will ensure you pass any medicals you are required to take,”

“Donna's already got all my stuff on file to do the background checks,” Dean added, nodding to himself at his mental checklist, “and they... the psych evaluation I did at my last assessment for all this,” raising his arm as he said it, “said I was okay to work. Can't discriminate for mental, uh, problems,”

“No, they cannot; and you are doing all you can to deal with those as well, Dean,” Cas told him firmly, squeezing his hand. Cas was right; after that night in the hospital Dean had finally caved and though reluctant about it had started seeing a therapist. He had only had a couple of sessions so far, and though there was no obvious improvement yet, having a neutral person to talk to about the mess inside his head was nowhere near as terrifying as Dean had always presumed it would be; in fact, it was sort of liberating.

“I'm ticking all the boxes,” Dean smiled, taking a moment to glance around him and breath deep, enjoy the peace of their lazy afternoon. And with Cas by his side he didn't feel self-conscious in his knee-length shorts and long-sleeved t-shirt needed to protect his still-sensitive skin from the sun, when everyone else around them was wandering about half-dressed because of the uncharacteristic heat. He had on a factor of sunscreen that until he'd been burned Dean had never even known existed, and if he couldn't tan himself he could enjoy the beautiful colour Cas was turning; especially as Cas had revealed himself as a bit of a sun worshipper. Sam's weekend barbecues usually found Sam and Dean at the grill, and Jess and Cas stretched out on sun loungers, with Dean receiving crass commentary from Sam for getting distracted by so much of Cas' skin being on display.

“You are,” Cas agreed, and the prideful smile he gave Dean then caught his breath, reining his thoughts in from wandering.

“We got games night on Thursday,” Dean reminded him then, a red-haired girl passing them making him think of Charlie.

“We do; I promised Benny that I would take some tea for his wife,”

“Benny says it's more like the Exorcist than morning sickness, and she's only two months gone,” Dean agreed, laughing and wondering to himself when Sam and Jess might consider having children.

“Then I hope the tea is helpful,”

“Let's see,” Dean said then, wrinkling his eyes up in memory, “ginger, raspberry leaf, and mint. Am I right?”

Cas rewarded him for being correct with a squeeze of his fingers and a delighted, surprised smile. “Dean. Have you been watching me work?”

Dean squeezed back, finding it impossible to not answer with a beam of his own. “Well, _yeah_ , Cas; you are ' _exceptionally pleasant to look at'_ , after all,” earning himself the gift of Cas blushing so hard that the flush reached down his neck, and even over the bridge of his nose.

“'sides. You got a tea for just about everything, huh, Cas,” Dean teased, nudging soft against his shoulder.

“Perhaps I should be writing a tea recipe book rather than a novel if that is true,”

“Hey,” Dean chided, pulling him into the circle of his arm again, “you said it yourself; submitting manuscripts takes forever. You've had what; six short stories published now? And that chapbook you did of your poems went like hotcakes last week, you know it did,”

Cas beamed at him, his cheeks a little pink with blushing. “I am sure your artwork for it was a contributing factor to its success, Dean. And I was not suggesting that I am giving up; I was merely saying—”

“It's a thought though,” Dean mused, more to himself than to Cas, “not a recipe book. But your writing, Cas. Your writing's _good._ Maybe you should start a blog. You could start a blog about Tea Tales... you could promote all those local suppliers you keep harping on about being sustainable and helping the environment. You could advertise your book club nights, maybe get even more people in. You could... I don't know. Start mixing and shipping the tea yourself if you wanted, sell it online, start some Twitter wars with your rivals; not that anyone makes tea like you do, Cas,”

Cas' mouth curled with his effort to stop his smile from taking over his face. “You often accuse me of reading _your_ mind, Dean; yet you have just listed a number of potential ideas I had considered to include for the creation of a blog. I was going to ask Charlie about it tomorrow, in fact,”

“Great minds think alike then, huh, Cas? Charlie'll be... you know how Charlie will be,” Dean smiled, already imagining her reaction.

“Effervescent,”

“And I'll... I'll draw anything you want for it, Cas, whatever you want, if you want it. If you think it'll help,”

“I would love that,” Cas smiled at Dean then as though he'd given him something far bigger, “I would be honored to have _therealcaptainamerica_ drawing for my cafe,”

Dean groaned to himself, the heat of his blush flaring on his cheeks enough to make him reach his free hand up to rub over them. Charlie's dedicated page on her store blog for Dean's artwork had attracted a surprising amount of interest; at least, it was surprising to Dean. Even more surprising was that Charlie had set him up a Twitter account, and that he'd actually got himself some followers, a fact that Charlie pinned solely on him for _being pretty_. She had snapped a picture of him when he'd been drawing in her store and immediately posted it on just about all the social media she could get her hands on; Dean's follower numbers had spiked, and Cas' predatory responses to some of the Tweets that Dean had received still made Dean smile at thinking about even then.

“I'd be honored that you'd even let me,”

“I am proud of you, Dean; so proud,” Cas said then, a quiet urgency in his voice as he turned Dean into him making Dean's heart skip.

“And I'm excited for you,” Dean smiled, wrapping an arm around Cas and squeezing him tight.

“Nothing has been decided—”

“I'm excited for you anyway. About anything. About everything. About us, Cas,” which seemed to be the exact thing Cas wanted to hear right then, judging by the way he pressed himself up against Dean and kissed him as though he was never going to stop. When Cas dropped his head to bury it in Dean's neck and wrapped his arms around him tight, Dean looked out over Cas' shoulder at the park, the small pond where kids yelled at each other from their paddle boats whilst their parents sat lazily on the small bank of grass nearby sipping on drinks to keep them cool in the heat of the sun, and knew contentment.

* * *

 

  
  



	17. Epilogue: Happy for now, happily ever after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with this one if you have, apologies for the delay towards the end.
> 
> All the hugs :)
> 
> x

**Dean**

“It's good to finally meet you, Dean,”

Dean took in the warmth in Cas' father's grip, the kindness in his eyes, and felt Cas tensing beside him. “Good to meet you too, Mr Shurley—”

“Chuck,” he amended, waving away the idea of any formality between them then diving right back in to the slice of chocolate cake Dean's arrival in Tea Tales had disrupted, “this is so good,”

“Would you like something, Dean?” Cas asked, his eyes lingering over his dad for a moment then back to Dean's. Dean reached out to squeeze his fingers in reassurance then nodded towards the dessert counter, climbing up on a stool beside Chuck, and the two of them starting up a tentative conversation that seemed to relax Cas for seeing and even encourage him to join in.

“Cas said you got the nod for your new job,” Chuck said a while later, when the last of Dean's unease about meeting him had disappeared, Chuck's voice thick with the chocolate stuck to the roof of his mouth.

Cas' eyes grew wide with alarm, Dean recognizing the expression for fear that Dean might not have wanted him to pass the information along. Easing his mind with a wink Dean then nodded to Chuck and passed him a napkin as his eyes started darting around for one when a large chunk of frosting lodged itself in his beard.

“Yeah, finally. I mean I say finally; seems like it's taken forever but it's not even like they kept us waiting too long. Money was already earmarked for a post; just needed to put a decent proposal together and get all bases covered 'fore they'd sign off on it,”

Chuck nodded though didn't look over, still heavily invested in his second slice of cake that he was making a thorough mess of, spraying crumbs across the counter that Cas' eyes narrowed at more and more with every spill.

“Sounds good,” Chuck enthused, actually spraying the countertop with crumbs from his mouth as he spoke. Cas poured more water into their teapot and with distaste dragged a cloth around Chuck's plate, obviously holding back a comment judging from the set of his jaw.

“Nice to see a guy enjoying his dessert,” Dean teased, though the teasing was really aimed at Cas. Chuck stopped, looked down at the mess he was making then up to Cas, wrinkling his face up in an apology that Cas grudgingly waved away. “You should see our place when we're making dinner,” Dean added, grinning at Cas in affection, “you'd think it was a completely different person cooking if you compared our kitchen with the one in here,”

Cas raised an eyebrow and stared back at him in silence; for a moment Dean took a turn at wondering if he'd said something he shouldn't. But then Cas' lips were twitching up into a smile and nodding in agreement. “It is essential I am organized here. There is less space to work with plus an open doorway where customers can look in at what I am doing. But at home—”

“You've got a willing assistant who runs around wiping up after you,” Dean finished for him, reaching out and squeezing Cas' fingers where he curled them around his side of the counter. Cas' grin bloomed, and he responded with only a shrug confirming Dean's words.

Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw Chuck glancing between them and smiling; when Dean turned his head Chuck echoed Cas' shrug and reached out for his cup, glancing down at its contents before taking a hesitant sip. When he raised his eyes again he rewarded Cas with a smile that said he approved; Dean fought and failed to hide his own pleased smile for the look of pride on Cas' face.

“This is good, Cas. Still don't know why you don't just give in and add coffee to the menu, though; you imagine the punters you'd get in here if you sold this stuff with coffee to go with it?” Chuck mused with a nudge at his plate, more to himself than actually to Cas. Dean watched Cas square his shoulders in indignance but before he could retort Chuck was adding, “Your grandmother would be honoured though,” and then with one hand gripped around the counter to steady himself was reaching down to the floor to snatch up a satchel, poking through its contents until he was pulling out a thick wad of paper, crinkled and yellowed with age, and holding it out for Cas to take.

“I took this,” Chuck explained, nodding at the paper now in Cas' hand, “when your grandmother died, and she left you what she left you, your mom went through that house looking for anything of value she could sell,”

The look of hurt and distaste on Cas' face had Dean pulling Cas' hand forward so he could hold on to it properly, giving him a supportive squeeze.

“I went with her to the house; you were—”

“On vacation,” Cas finished with what Dean knew was lingering anger at himself but had never heard the details of.

“She wouldn't have had you do anything else. You know she adored Meg,” Chuck interrupted, shaking his head at the doubt on Cas' face.

With a loud sigh that was edged with disagreement, Cas slid his eyes from Chuck's over to Dean's. “Meg had convinced me to take a road trip with her along the coast,” he explained, his lips twisting up in bittersweet memory. “I think my grandmother was the only person Meg has ever met that was not immediately intimidated by her; Meg liked her very much for that. After college we decided – _Meg_ decided, that we were going to celebrate finishing by traveling. We planned the entire thing at my grandmother's dining table; maps and books covering every surface and a constant supply of tea and cake as we, uh, researched. We were on the way back from that road trip when she died. By the time I had returned the house was sold, and there was nothing left of my grandmother's beside the money that she had left me,”

“Aren't you gonna take a look?” Chuck said then, tilting his chin in the direction of the papers still gripped in Cas' fingers that he'd yet to look at.

Dean watched Cas' eyes fall and stroke over the front handwritten sheet then grow a touch wider, his mouth forming a surprised, silent gasp as he begin to delicately turn the pages over. “These... these are my grandmother's recipes,” he mumbled, quiet and respectful, “how did you get them?”

“Like I said,” Chuck told him, an idle hand scratching through his hair giving Dean the impression he'd actually just gotten out of bed instead of coming directly from his office, “I went with your mother when she tried to clear the house out; grabbed these up, 'cos I remembered you liking 'em so much when you were little. Stashed them in my office at home. Forgot about 'em until I was clearing it out a couple of days ago; your mother's decided we're redecorating,”

Dean kept his eyes firmly on Cas' face, watching the way it transformed with memories, gentle fingers seeming to stroke out over favored recipes and his eyes a little bright with unshed tears when he finally looked back up.

“I will put these to use; thank you,” and Cas' voice when he spoke was tinged with emotion; Dean was on his feet in an instant and walking around the counter with his now empty plate, depositing that on the side and wrapping his arms around Cas from behind, pressing a kiss into his shoulder blade and leaning into him as Cas' fingers locked around his own.

When he pulled back from Cas though still standing beside him and looping an easy arm around his waist, Dean watched as Chuck gave an unguarded glance over the two of them with an ever-increasing smile on his face.

“I like this,” Chuck announced then out of nowhere, making both Dean and Cas tense up. “ _This_ ,” Chuck emphasized, a vague wave of his hand in their direction before it formed a fist and bumped loud against the counter as he sat back a little on his stool, “you're happy, Cas. I can't imagine anything else I'd ever want for you,”

“I am. We are,” Cas amended, leaning in more easily to Dean's side. Dean squeezed around his waist again and pressed a kiss into his temple, silently thanking Chuck for his approval.

“We're, uh—my brother—” Dean blurted out then, only to be interrupted by a flicker of a smile from Chuck.

“Sam Winchester,” Chuck confirmed, nodding, “good guy. Great lawyer. Loyal as hell; I tried to recruit him early on, but he insisted on staying at the practice who'd supported him when he was studying; no matter how much money we tried to tempt him with,”

Dean found himself grinning even harder at that and nodded back, “yeah, him. And that—that sounds like Sam. He's—he's having this big dinner at his at the weekend. I'm cooking, and there'll be a houseful. If you're around... you're welcome to come along, Chuck. Be good to see you there if you can make it,”

The pleased blush that took over Chuck's face then Dean was adamant he could feel even with a few feet of air between them. Chuck's fingers tapped an awkward, embarrassed beat against the counter as he gave a shy smile back and nodded, “I'll... if I can... I mean I can't make promises but—”

“It would be good to see you there,” Cas repeated Dean's words; Dean rewarded him with another squeeze.

“So what're you doing for the rest of the day?” Chuck asked then, a glance down at his watch and a frown on his face as he stood up, clearly making to leave.

“We are doing battle with dragons,” Cas replied drily with obvious amusement at the way Chuck's face morphed, looking like he was trying to process that information.

“We're playing boardgames with a few of our friends,” Dean elaborated, grinning and pulling back from Cas to lightly shove him in the shoulder though immediately afterwards dropping his fingers to lace through Cas'.

“We are quite the team,” Cas added, turning and beaming at Dean so hard then that it was impossible for him not to echo it straight back.

“Dragons, huh?” Chuck repeated, a secret smile for Cas that Cas immediately nodded at and returned, a warm, sunny thing that left Dean want to ask questions about yet didn't want to interrupt the moment. Cas seemed to notice though, nudging into his side and smiling just as brightly for him.

“When I was young – very young. When I would have difficulty sleeping. Gabriel would come into my room, or I into his, and he would tell me stories; specifically about a dragon that could be lured from its cave with food to do its bidding,”

“Sounds like your brother talking about himself,” Dean laughed, enjoying the image.

“Indeed,” Cas agreed affectionately amused, “the dragon did appear to share Gabe's sweet tooth,”

“Seems our family's got a thing about dragons,” Chuck added, making both Dean and Cas turn back to him in curiosity. At the attention Chuck gave another nod and smiled at them both, a final tap of his fist against the counter, “remember me telling you I wanted to write when I was in college, Cas? I had a story on the go. Still got it; found it in an old journal along with your grandmother's recipes. Thinking about starting it up again now I've read through it. Anyway,” Chuck said when realizing he hadn't finished explaining himself, “story was about two brothers. Who went around this fictional world I'd created chasing down monsters and demons, and ended up befriending this dragon to help them. It's pretty good,”

Dean squeezed his free hand in a tight fist by his side to stop himself from laughing but made what he hoped was all the right noises of enthusiasm back at Chuck, listening as he and Cas caught each other up on their final pieces of news. Then Chuck was waving goodbye, repeating to Dean how happy he was to have met him and leaving the cafe; the moment he was gone Cas was turning in Dean's arms and sighing into his neck.

“Demon hunting with dragons,” Cas repeated mournfully, burying himself into Dean a little firmer and groaning.

“Hey, it's a strategy; maybe it's our new plan of attack for tonight; Charlie wouldn't have come up with it,” Dean replied, stroking a hand down Cas' back and the other through his hair. Cas hummed at the gesture and slid his hands into Dean's jean pockets, shuffling closer still.

“Because Charlie is not ridiculous,” Cas bit back with, and at the same time turning his head to press a kiss to Dean's throat.

“Ah, she might be sometimes,” Dean defended before quickly turning his head to claim Cas' mouth. Cas' hum of approval shot straight through him; Dean's thoughts shifted and refocused entirely with a quick glance up at the clock to check the time. “Hey, Cas—”

“Claire is arriving at four,” Cas told him, already pulling back enough to stare Dean down with intent, “if you would like to go home first—”

“Hell yeah,” Dean interrupted with, grabbing Cas around the waist and hauling him on to the counter, slotting himself between his legs then reclaiming his mouth. Cas' answering gasp for being picked up was delayed though sinful, and as Cas hauled Dean closer to him whilst reclaiming his mouth in a filthy kiss, Dean had about a second to thank his lucky stars all over again before becoming too distracted to think of anything else at all but getting Cas home.

* * *

**Cas**

“Clarence,”

Cas grinned at Meg's greeting and accepted her one-armed hug, watching her wind her way through the tables of Tea tales and slump down next to Charlie with a nod over at Dean and a smile for Donna. Looking away again Cas flipped the _closed_ sign of and took a final glance out into the street, waving at Mark from the bookstore as he called out in passing. Bolting the door firmly now that everyone was inside, Cas pressed a further sign against the glass reading _closed for a private party_ and checked it was in place then turned back to the swell of noise behind him to observe.

Bobby stood talking with Dean and Jody, and Cas had no doubt in his mind about their subject of discussion. Ellen, Claire and Jess were cooing over Andrea around a table; Andrea caught his eye and smiled, looking exhausted, completely understandable since she was ready to give birth any day now. One of her hands rested over her swollen stomach whilst the other was wrapped around Benny's, who sat at the table behind her talking to Ash, Charlie and now Meg, with Gilda nudging Cas as she walked by him with a plate full of cake as she went back to join them as well.

There was a screech of laughter: Meg had clearly stolen Gilda's seat and left no space for her to sit at the table, and to deal with this Gilda shrugged with ease, slid the cake down on to the table and sat herself down on Meg's lap. Laughing, Meg raised her hands to Gilda's waist to hoist her up again but Gilda was having none of it; she bent forward pressing a long, lingering kiss on Charlie that was audible even from across the cafe. Eventually and with some tugging, Charlie pulled Gilda across into her own lap, though not before Meg grinned at her around Gilda's shoulder and followed it up with an incredibly lewd wink.

Shaking his head to himself and smiling, Cas' gaze swept across to Jody's son Owen, sat mournfully by himself in the furthest corner of the cafe with his eyes fixed firmly on the back of Claire's head. Jody had sent him out with Dean for the day instead of grounding him for missing his curfew last month, and Dean had brought him in to Tea Tales for lunch, because Dean always found his way there no matter where he was working. Owen had taken one look at Claire behind the counter and blushed bright as a beet, and harbored a painful crush on her ever since.

Helping themselves to yet more chocolate cake as they stood deep in conversation were Sam and Chuck; Cas grinned and shook his head at the sight of them together, then winced as Gabriel joined them, waltzing up and cutting himself a slab then wandering off again with a slap around Sam's head. Sam nudged him away without even looking, pushing Gabe into a table with such force that Gabe almost upended the entire thing; an easy grasp by Dean to keep it firmly in place without even breaking from his conversation saved the numerous bottles of drinks on the table from crashing to the floor. Though it hadn't been planned, Cas watched Sam and Dean's eyes flit to each other and their mouths turn up into triumphant smirks, and found himself smiling hard.

Cas had seen Tea Tales so busy that at times it had felt as though it might bust out into the street, but even when it had been at its fullest the cafe had never seemed so warm, so alive as it did to him in that moment. All of the people sat and stood around Cas were his family now, whether by blood or otherwise; Bobby had said something clever about that when he and Ellen had last visited, and as he looked around him Cas wished he could remember Bobby's exact words, because it was so relevant to how he was feeling right then.

Four months ago had been his and Dean's one year anniversary together. It had come in the middle of an extremely busy period for Dean at work, but he'd still found the time to get home before him, cook them a delicious meal, light the living room by candlelight and pull Cas into his arms to dance, only to apologise for not being able to do more and taking him to bed to make it up to him. Of course, Cas had been more than happy with all that Dean had done for him, his only experience with an anniversary before being with Balthasar, and the only one that they'd acknowledged ending with Cas going home alone because of Bali's incessant flirting with the barman.

But Dean, Dean was so very good to him. He'd lied about not having the time to do anything else for their anniversary, and when Cas had tried to get up on the following Friday morning to get to Tea Tales Dean had pinned him to the bed and kissed him senseless, admitting he'd already talked to Meg and Claire and they were covering him for the entire weekend, so Dean could take him away. They'd driven for only a couple of hours and spent that weekend holed up in a cabin entirely lost in each other; Cas still felt his breath catch at the ease with which Dean had scooped him up in a bridal carry and carried him straight through to the bedroom there.

When they'd returned to the apartment Dean had winked at him whilst stood in front of one of their bookcases then slid out a large envelope hidden there and slumped down on the couch beside him, depositing the envelope in Cas' lap.

“Thought. Maybe we could start thinking 'bout buying a place together,” Dean had said, watching as Cas had slid the real estate brochures in the envelope out into his waiting hands, only to glance up and see the uncertainty on Dean's face as though he'd thought Cas wouldn't want that. Cas thought of the way he'd straddled Dean's lap and enthusiastically reassured him it was exactly what he wanted, and had to discreetly adjust his jeans, then walked across the cafe to join Dean with a silent slide of his fingers into his hand.

They'd found the perfect place; two months from now and they would be moving in, and this family gathering would be repeated though on a probably larger scale. Dean had insisted on celebrating Cas getting his manuscript for his finally completed story approved; it was early days, Cas had the distinct impression he was going to be bombarded with emails from the publisher's proofreaders, and coupled with his regular writing, the hours he put in at Tea Tales and the blog for it that he, Dean and Charlie were working on together the next few months were going to be incredibly busy, but Dean had been so very proud of and happy for him that Cas didn't have it in him to refuse.

Actually, Cas thought to himself then, accepting Dean's kiss and nudging against his shoulder as Bobby rolled his eyes at them with a smile on his face that he couldn't hide, then carried on talking to Dean and Jody about new legislation he didn't approve of for the risk it would mean to his crew; Tea Tales was about to have a new employee that would mean Cas could cut back some of his hours. Hannah, ostensibly poached for Tea Tales by Gabriel from a cafe he frequented near the law firm office, would begin in a week. Although he loved Tea Tales and had no intention of ever giving it up, Cas looked forward to being able to sit in its corners and write as someone else did a lot of the work he would normally do himself. He'd still mix the tea himself and do a good amount of the baking, but with Hannah as an extra pair of hands to serve customers, keep the accounts up to date and help with all of the administration it took to run the cafe, Cas would be free to concentrate on the things he loved best about Tea Tales. He really couldn't wait.

“Can I borrow you for a minute, Cas?”

Cas blinked to clear the images he'd lost himself in and glanced over at Dean, answering his smile effortlessly and leaning in for another kiss before nodding in agreement then squeezing his hand. Dean squeezed back, then tugged until Cas knew he wanted him to follow, finding himself moments later in the Tea Tales kitchen with Dean firmly closing the door he himself had always kept open.

Curious, Cas had a moment worrying that something was wrong; Dean had recently decided to stop having the weekly therapy sessions he'd been having since that incident involving the ditch and the cat which they both found hilarious now they were viewing it from several months away. But Dean's smile for him was warm, and the way he slipped his arms around Cas' waist was reassuring, and the kiss he pulled him in for was quickly in danger of spilling over into something inappropriate for the presence of those people on the other side of that door.

“Just wanted you to myself for a minute,” Dean mumbled against Cas' lips before wrapping his arms tightly around him and gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief, “feels like I've not seen you for hours,”

“I have been right here,” Cas countered, though with a smile on his face reflecting just how warm Dean's words had made him.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, kissing him again, “ _working_. Fussing over us all; this was s'posed to be a thing for _you,_ Cas,”

“I am not fussing, and I am enjoying _my_ celebration,” Cas stopped what he'd been intending saying when Dean's lips twitched up the second Cas had air quoted where his arms looped behind Dean's head.

“Good,” Dean grinned, kissing him again with that grin firmly in place, “'s good practice for our housewarming – which you are not spending the entire time serving everyone through,”

“I am not serving anyone now,” Cas protested, “I am—”

But Dean cut him off yet again with another amused kiss. Cas sighed his way into it crossing his arms into a firmer loop and pressing himself up against Dean, losing himself in his embrace. Dean's hands secure around his waist as he rocked him in his arms was a very easy thing to lose himself to, Cas thought, letting his eyes fall closed and his weight sag where he knew it would be securely held up.

“Back up a minute for me Cas, huh?”

At Dean slipping his hands to grasp at his hips and gently nudge Cas back he went, having no time to protest because Dean was then lifting him in that effortless way of his up and on to the kitchen counter. Dean's hands were warm as they brushed their way up Cas' thighs, and a different kind of heat entirely fired down between them.

“Actually,” Dean said then, his tone making Cas' heart give a thud of anticipation, “was something I've been thinking 'bout running by you,”

Cas nodded because the look in Dean's eyes made any words impossible for him. Dean grinned, reaching up to the cupboard next to Cas' head, sliding the door back without even breaking eye contact. Cas caught a glimpse of a small box in Dean's hand as he dropped it back down again into his lap, and his heartbeat sped up another notch.

“Now; I'm no good at all the whole... I mean. You're the expert when it comes to saying all the right things, Cas—”

“I am not,” Cas managed to blast out with laughter tingeing his words at the very idea of it; because how many times in his life had he wished he had the very right things to say and failed to find them?

“Are to me,” Dean argued, so much love in his expression that already Cas' eyes were beginning to prick with tears. Was what he thought was about to happen really about to happen or was he living in one of his fantasies that were better placed between the pages of a book?

“Hey,” Dean said on seeing it, gently gripping around Cas' waist, “if you've guessed what's coming, how come you're tearing up, huh? S'posed to be a happy thing, Cas,”

His heart racing even faster and Cas was helpless to hold in the sob that blasted out of his mouth. “I am happy, Dean; you make me so very happy,”

“Well, that's a good start,”

A tap against Cas' leg had him looking down, his stomach turning over at the confirmation of the small black box gripped in Dean's fingers and pressing there. Now that he had Cas' attention Dean reached out with his other hand and pulled the box open with a soft creak, revealing two simple, beautiful, solid-looking matching rings, his lower lip caught between his teeth when Cas could tear his eyes away from the rings to look back up again at him.

“Whaddya think, Cas?” Dean said, his slight shifting from side to side showing his attempt at trying to hide his nerves. “Think you're gonna get through me proposing to you without your heart leaping outta your chest or what?”

“We can try,” Cas replied, hearing his own voice catch. Dean stared back at him for a second then slid his hands to the counter either side of him and bent his head down in front of Cas, laughing at himself.

“Not sure I'm gonna get through it either, if I'm honest,” Dean confessed with a catch in his voice, and when he leaned forward to bury his head down into the crook of Cas' neck was when Cas realized just how hard he was trembling.

“Dean,” he mumbled leaning back, “this is... this—”

“No, I can do this,” Dean told him, a quick squeeze over his knees as he straightened back up, sounding very much like he was trying to reassure himself. “So. Here's the thing,”

Dean slotted his fingers through Cas' free hand and pressed them there against his leg, breathing out slow and hard. “I didn't... I never thought I'd get to have a day like this, when I'm so sick with nerves with what I've been rehearsing to say to you in the mirror since I bought these damn rings a month ago,”

“A month?” Cas checked, his own nerves feeling that they were calming a touch at hearing Dean's so openly on display.

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, shaking his head at himself, “I mean I'd been looking for the right ones for... for ages 'fore then. Kept thinking I'd know what to say once I saw the right ones,”

“Dean. You could have drawn a ring on my finger and it would have been perfect,”

“Well, now you tell me,” Dean laughed again, and Cas was relieved to hear that he was also relaxing a touch, “but seriously; you're right. I finally figured out it didn't really matter what these things looked like. I mean I wanted to find something that looked _good_ , but... but that we both want this 's all that counts. Right, Cas?”

“Right,” Cas agreed, swallowing hard, bravely reaching out his own finger to stroke over the surface of the rings and set his heart off thudding all over again.

“So Cas,” Dean said, so obviously having difficulty swallowing himself, “you already make me happier than I ever knew I could be. You already give me a home I thought I'd never know. And you... you complete me, Cas. It's not—it's not that I don't know how to function without you, although, thinking about it, that's really not so far from the truth either anymore; hasn't been for a long time now. But I—I _need_ you, Cas,”

His heart speeding up to what felt an impossible rate left Cas breathing hard, covering Dean's hands where they pressed shakily against his thighs and squeezing them a little, then forcing his fingers into the gaps between Dean's.

“I love you, Cas; wanna marry me? Spend the rest of your life with me and all that stuff?”

Cas felt himself nodding before he could get any words to form, so overwhelmed with emotion that it took a few attempts. “And all that stuff,” Cas repeated back to him, eyes darting down to the ring now held between Dean's shaking fingers then back up to his face, “all of it. Yes, Dean: I love you very much. Of course I will,”

The weight of the ring being slid on to his finger was the thing that settled him; Dean squeezed his fingertips around the ring and smiled in obvious relief on finding it was a perfect fit. Cas plucked the other ring from the box and slid that down over Dean's ring finger as well, both of them staring for a moment before breaking out into laughter, then gripping tight around each other's arms, beaming smiles of excitement.

The kiss that followed was another that they lost themselves to; Dean pulled Cas until he was sitting on the very edge of the kitchen counter and kept him from falling by pressing back firm between his legs. Another kiss, another sense of forgetting everything but each other until Gabe was slamming back the door demanding that they come back out to see their guests.

One look down at Dean's hand splayed around Cas' thigh, with his eyes narrowing in on the ring there and his smile splitting wide, and Gabe was whistling, turning dramatically on his heel with his hands held high in the air in celebration then loudly announcing to the entire cafe that Dean and Cas were now engaged. And as a collective round of cheering and hollering went on just out of their sight, Dean held out his hand for Cas to hold on to as he hopped down from the counter, then grinned and leaned in for one final kiss before squaring his shoulders and tilting his head in the direction of the doorway, leading Cas back out to a round of applause.

* * *

 

  


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer-y stuff: I own nothing, and in the scheme of Supernatural things at least, I am nothing :) Fair warning, I know vastly more about tea ingredients and cafe wrangling than I do about the fire service, firefighting and subsequent injuries; I have done my best. It's also far, far angst/hurt/comfort-ier than I ever intended it to be – but it does have a happy ending! 
> 
> Promises: Dean and Cas do not die, do not cheat, and probably fall in love way too quickly. Anything sad in this is made up for with sappiness and silliness in (hopefully) equal parts – and anything that is sad is not anything to do with their relationship. 
> 
> Warnings: in case I haven't covered them adequately in the tags there is depression, anxiety, panic attacks, insomnia, nightmares, and suggestions of suicidal thoughts (that come to nothing) mentioned, and are all things that afflict Dean. There are also some snippets flashbacks of John Winchester beating Dean that don't go into too much detail, and Dean being burnt in a fire. Poor, poor Dean: I am very sorry :( Cas gets off comparatively lightly with self doubt, a horrible mother and anxiety. Apologies for that as well. 
> 
> Liberties taken with the characters in this fic:  
> First off, since this is an AU, I've probably taken every liberty there is possible to with Dean and Cas. I might have hit all the fanfic cliches as well. I've tried to keep them 'them', as much as I could, but, you know. AU and all.  
> Chuck is older and in a profession that is not writing. Why? I got lost in the image of Rob Benedict in a sharp suit with all the face scruff and had to make it happen somehow. I make no apologies.  
> Cas' mother is randomly named because I couldn't squidge in another character I was happy to pair Chuck with. I tried Naomi, then Hannah, then for three seconds considered Becky but it just didn't sit right. Imagine, then, Cas' mother appearing however you wish.  
> John Winchester is a poor excuse of a human being in this fic. Perhaps the only thing canon!John is guilty of being is a poor parent lost in his own grief after losing his wife and doing the best he can; in this story, however, he is a truly horrible person.


End file.
